


A Different Style of Dancing

by Cameo (CameoSF)



Series: Dancing in the Light [1]
Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: M/M, Pendroch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CameoSF/pseuds/Cameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Pendrick comes across William Murdoch at a low point in his life, and with some care and persistence makes everything better.  (Diverges from canon after the episode 'Buffalo Shuffle' in season 4.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Style of Dancing

**A Different Style of Dancing**

William Murdoch sat on the park bench as he had most evenings since returning from Buffalo, glumly watching as folks hurried by on their way home to families and dinner. The sun was setting, and one by one gas or electric lights were turned on in the surrounding homes. It wasn’t a large park, it wasn’t even his favorite park in Toronto, but it was the only one between Police Station No. 4 and his flat on Hudson Street, and it was as far as he wanted to go these days.

As fewer and fewer people passed by to distract him, he thought of his own home, the small rooms he rented in Mrs. Kitchen’s boarding house and now couldn’t bear to face for more than minutes at a time. If he lingered there, he was bound to see something that reminded him of Julia, and that inevitably reminded him of his failure yet again to win her hand. He’d waited too long, not once but twice, and lost the only person who’d mattered to him in years. He shouldn’t have been so reticent, so determined to proceed at a respectful pace. He should have perceived that a woman as beautiful, as brilliant, as gracious as Julia would move on to someone who was willing to offer her the life she deserved. He was an idiot to think she’d wait for him to declare himself. She’d already waited longer than he’d had any right to expect.

It wasn’t so bad when he was working, but the city had been unusually murder-free for the past month. At first Murdoch had occupied himself by researching and ordering new equipment to assist him with his detecting, but when Inspector Brackenreid had come across some of the invoices, he’d put his foot down. Murdoch was forthwith banished from the station at six o’clock each day until and unless a suitable crime occurred. Even under the circumstances, Murdoch couldn’t hope for a murder just to take his mind off his misery.

He’d tried leaving his bicycle at the station and walking to and fro, but that still left him with too much time to dwell on his own stupidity. He’d tried attending daily services at his church, but during every lull in the ceremony his thoughts drifted to his own shortcomings. Confession hadn’t helped; after he’d confessed for the tenth time that he was a failure, Father Bertram had told him to stop moping and find someone else. At least sitting alone in a darkened park allowed him not to think, or it would if he could figure out how.

By the time the moon had risen above the trees, the neighborhood was empty and very quiet. Murdoch actually jumped when the sound of a horseless carriage approached along the street behind him. He glanced back just as it stopped nearby.

“Detective Murdoch?” The driver leaned forward from the shadows to reveal his face, but Murdoch had already recognized his voice. The good manners ingrained in him by the Jesuit Brothers forced him to rise and respond.

“Mr. Pendrick. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.” Pendrick scanned the area with a puzzled look, his eyes narrowed. “I can’t imagine what there is in this place to hold your interest. Are you on a case?”

“No, I’m on my own time.” Murdoch went closer. He hadn’t seen the millionaire since the night that his wife had disappeared after robbing him blind and attempting to frame him for murder. As far as he knew Sally Pendrick had not been heard of since, but according to the Toronto Gazette, James Pendrick had begun successfully recouping his losses. He was an established engineer and gifted inventor, so more than one bank was willing to front the costs of whatever venture he chose to pursue. Thinking of Sally, however, reminded Murdoch that he’d done his own best to see Pendrick hanged, and the memory of that nearly fatal mistake only made him more morose.

Pendrick had been watching him. He’d changed since Murdoch had first met him; longer hair softened the hard angles of his face, and the pinched look Murdoch had grown accustomed to was gone.

“I’ll be honest, Detective,” the man said suddenly. “I’ve seen you here before. One of my backers has his office on the other side of the park, and it seems that whenever I pass by around this time, here you sit. Are you meeting someone?”

“No, just enjoying my own company.” He didn’t mean to sound ironic, and Murdoch knew he wasn’t fooling the other. After a moment, Pendrick pushed open the door of the carriage nearest Murdoch.

“Get in. If you’re going to be pensive, you may as well be so over a good meal.”

“No, thank you, that’s not necessary -”

“Of course it isn’t, but dinner is, and I don’t wish to dine alone this evening.” Pendrick waited. When Murdoch reached out to close the door, having no intention of joining the other in a social setting, his hand was firmly clasped and he was pulled onto the seat. Pendrick gave him a thin smile. “Excellent.”

With a sideways look as if to make sure his passenger wasn’t going to bolt, he started up the motor and set off in the direction of his estate. Realizing that to protest would take more effort than he was willing to expend, Murdoch sat back and resigned himself to being civilized. At least the evening would pass more quickly than usual.

“I see your arm has healed,” Murdoch observed en route, referring to the gunshot wound inflicted upon Pendrick by his spouse before her departure.

“Yes, I heal quickly. Actually, I’ve been fortunate since our last encounter,” Pendrick remarked. “It turns out there were two things my lovely wife couldn’t steal. One is my portfolio of patents. I had several nearly ready to file when we separated, and I was able to continue work on them as soon as I was cleared of charges. Between them and the patents I already had, I’ve been quite busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Murdoch said.

“The other thing is my estate. Love-struck ass that I was, even Sally couldn’t have sold the house and grounds out from under me without my noticing. She did manage to sell most of the antiques, artwork and jewelry, as well as empty my bank accounts. Clever woman.”

“Yes, very.”

They’d left the city proper and were now moving swiftly down the road to the Pendrick estate. Despite his melancholy, Murdoch could see that the man beside him was enjoying himself. He handled the horseless contraption as if familiar with every nut and bolt, and Murdoch suspected he had tested its limits at some point. As they pulled smoothly up the wide drive to the house, he found himself wondering if Pendrick had made his own modifications to the machine.

The house hadn’t changed much, as far as Murdoch could see in the moonlight. He’d always admired its architecture, the thick Roman columns before the front door setting off the house’s creamy facade. He’d only visited it in the day time, and its green roof had made the building appear to reside in perpetual springtime; in darkness it reminded him more of the first days of winter.

Pendrick had gotten out and gestured at the land around them. “There’s not much money left for luxuries, I’m afraid. I have no live-in staff, not that that’s a particular inconvenience for me. My cook comes in the mornings and makes all my meals for the day. A maid comes at the same time to clean. And my gardener comes by a few times a week to make sure the landscaping in front of the house is presentable. Appearances do matter.”

Murdoch followed him to the door, curious why he was being told all this. When Pendrick had to unlock the door himself and step in to turn on the foyer lights, he understood: they were the only ones there. The idea dismayed him, till he decided it was better than having to put on an act for others. Pendrick apparently understood that he wasn’t going to be the cheeriest dinner companion, and he didn’t seem to mind.

“Come in, Detective,” Pendrick said. “The dining room is at the end of the hall. I’ll join you there directly.”

Murdoch removed his hat automatically and set it on a small table near the door. Then, turning on lights as he went, Murdoch found the indicated room. It was large and noticeably chilly, the fireplace cold and dead. The long formal table was set for one person. With a mental shrug, Murdoch rummaged through a credenza, the only other piece of furniture in the room, and laid out a second setting of inexpensive china. He was about to go looking for Pendrick when the latter came through a swinging door in the far wall, carrying a platter and a bottle under each arm.

“Grab these, would you?” he asked, and Murdoch did so, half amused and half embarrassed to have his host acting the role of servant. Pendrick had removed his suit jacket and could have passed for a butler if not for the quality of his vest and ascot. The bottles were both wine, and Murdoch set them at the head of the table, hoping there would be an alternative beverage on offer. Pendrick positioned the platter between the two settings with a nod of thanks. “I would make a terrible waiter, I fear. Well, whatever I’ve forgotten, we presumably don’t need.”

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Murdoch stated. “That is to say -”

“I didn’t have to invite you, no. But I wanted to. Please, sit down.” Pendrick sat at the head of the table and began to open one of the bottles. “We’re having lamb, I believe, so red wine will do.” He reached to fill Murdoch’s glass, but stopped short when Murdoch placed his hand over the mouth. “Do you prefer white?”

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

That evidently left Pendrick at a loss. “Not at all? Because I frankly don’t know what else there is to drink in the house.”

The look of consternation on his face made Murdoch smile, and suddenly the whole situation struck him as farcical. He tried not to laugh, but Pendrick seemed to read his mind and snickered under his breath. In a minute they were both laughing out loud. Murdoch reluctantly moved his hand, and with a triumphant flourish, Pendrick poured some of the wine into his glass.

“Sally once told me I’d be the world’s worst host without her,” he said, still grinning, “and apparently she was correct. Can you force yourself to imbibe this evening?”

“I have been known to drink on special occasions,” Murdoch allowed.

“Then we’ll try to make this qualify.”

Pendrick served the lamb and accompanying side dishes easily. The food was well prepared, although not as hot as it could have been. Murdoch didn’t care; it was the first meal he’d enjoyed in weeks, and it wasn’t until Pendrick topped off his glass for the fourth time that it occurred to him that it might have something to do with the wine. He didn’t feel any ill effects, but as the evening wore on, he found himself talking about things he’d had no intention of sharing. Pendrick had turned out to be a surprisingly attentive listener.

“She isn’t anything like Liza,” he insisted, and wondered in passing whether Pendrick knew about his late fiancée. The other man didn’t question the name, so Murdoch assumed he’d already explained about his first romantic liaison. “Dr. Ogden is the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met. The most charming. She could have anybody, and she seemed to want me, but I let her get away. I wasn’t what she wanted after all.”

Pendrick sipped his own drink thoughtfully. “You’re in love with her and yet you refer to her by her title, not her given name.”

“It’s Julia.”

“I know that. I’m just wondering how close you really were. Had she taken you to meet her family?”

“No…”

“Had you discussed a long term relationship?”

Murdoch stared at the dark red liquid that he’d always avoided, and apparently with good reason. “No, not in so many words.”

“From what I’ve seen of Dr. Ogden, she knows her own mind. She wouldn’t need to wait for you to make a move. Did she never suggest a more intimate friendship?”

“We almost… It didn’t work out… We disagreed…” Murdoch heard himself blathering and stopped. “We were taking it slow.”

Pendrick didn’t speak for a moment. When Murdoch glanced up, he wasn’t sure if the man’s expression was one of pity, sympathy, or just exasperation. “My dear detective, I think you need some sleep. Are you averse to staying here tonight?”

“I can get home by myself.”

“Are you quite sure?”

Murdoch set down his glass very deliberately and stood up. The room did not cooperate, tilting dramatically to one side. He sat down again abruptly. “Perhaps not.”

“Let me.”

With Pendrick’s help, Murdoch managed to walk to the staircase. There seemed to be twice as many steps as he recalled from his previous visits, and they curved in a quite annoying manner, but eventually they reached the top, where Pendrick guided him into the nearest bedroom. It was shadowy and smelled a bit of stale perfume but was otherwise ready to receive a guest. Murdoch headed straight for the bed, landing face down on it. The last thing he remembered was someone removing his shoes.

*****

Next morning, Murdoch opened his eyes to broad daylight coming through an unfamiliar window. His mouth felt dry and sour, and there was a dull ache in the vicinity of his frontal lobe. He was lying on his side, covered and quite comfortable except where something warm rested on his waist. Stretching, he was startled to feel the warm object remove itself. The bed behind him shifted as a weight left it.

“How are you today, Detective?” Pendrick inquired, sounding far more clear-headed than Murdoch felt. He turned over, confused to note that he was wearing silk pajamas, as was his host. There was a second coverlet on the other side of the wide bed, which Pendrick had apparently been using. Pendrick followed his gaze. “Yes, I slept here. Since you were clearly not used to being intoxicated, I wasn’t going to leave you alone in case you became ill while you were unconscious.” His lips quirked. “And yes, those are a pair of my pajamas. You chose them for the color.”

Murdoch frowned, baffled why he would have done so. They were a pleasant pale green, but he had no memory of putting them on. “What time is it?”

“Not too late. After seven, I believe. What time do you need to be at work?”

“I don’t work on Sunday unless we have an ongoing case.”

“How fortuitous. Come downstairs for breakfast once you’ve cleaned up and dressed.” Pendrick gestured to Murdoch’s suit where it hung over the back of a chair, then crossed the spacious room to a door situated between two tall wardrobes and opened it to display a smaller chamber fitted out with bathtub, sink and other necessities. “You should find everything you need in here.”

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” Murdoch told him frankly.

“Then join me for tea. My cook, Mary, is here now. I’ll have her show me where the kettle is kept.”

Pendrick disappeared through another door on the opposite side of the lavatory, leaving Murdoch wondering whether his comment was a gentle jab at his guest’s inability to handle anything stronger. A second later, he realized that it was also a suggestion that they might dine together again.

Murdoch got to his feet, relieved when his head and stomach settled into place without incident. Gathering up his clothing, he entered the bath chamber and moved swiftly through his morning routine. There was a razor on a shelf, a comb and tooth powder next to it, and it was only after he was dressed and ready to go downstairs that it occurred to him that these items must belong to Pendrick himself. The room beyond had been silent the whole while he’d been in there, but he had no doubt that it was his host’s bedroom. The hint of scent in the other room must mean it had once belonged to Sally. Although he’d been in it once before, it looked nothing like the elegant chamber she’d left behind.

Downstairs he found Pendrick again seated at the head of the dining table, reading the morning Gazette. A woman in an apron whom he assumed was the cook was just leaving through the swinging door, carrying a loaded tray. There was a distinct smell of grilled meat in the room, but the only food in sight was toast, jam and porridge.

Pendrick looked up and smiled when Murdoch hesitated in the doorway. “Ah, there you are. I had Mary remove anything that might not agree with you this morning. I know only too well how you must be feeling.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Murdoch said, hiding his surprise. He’d subconsciously expected the man to think only of himself, then realized that he’d seen no evidence of selfishness the prior evening; his expectation was based on his encounters with Pendrick during several murder investigations in which Pendrick had been a suspect and hardly at his best. He took a seat. “Sir, I must apologize for my behavior. I didn’t realize the wine would affect me so strongly. You must have been very patient with me last night.”

“Think nothing of it,” Pendrick replied. He lowered his newspaper to study Murdoch closely. “Yes, I think you’ll live. And having shared a bed with me, you should probably call me James.”

Murdoch colored slightly, but he was getting used to Pendrick’s dry sense of humor. “Then please call me William.”

“Good, we’re officially friends now. It was bound to happen sooner or later, since we have so many of the same interests. Speaking of which, have you gotten your hands on one of the new Underwood typing machines yet? I’ve heard that a new model has just come on the market.”

Murdoch had, and he was quite willing to discuss its pros and cons. After that he described some of the other marvelous devices he’d managed to acquire or intended to acquire once Inspector Brackenreid stopped monitoring his expenditures. Pendrick listened avidly, familiar with most of them in theory. He asked informed questions, and even elaborated on some of their functions based on his reading. His own patents were in the area of engineering and metallurgy, but he knew a great deal about all things mechanical and electrical, and was actively interested in anything new.

When they were interrupted by Mary’s arrival to remove the breakfast dishes, it was nearly noon and they’d polished off every bite. They’d been talking non-stop and with such accord that Murdoch was astonished to realize he hadn’t thought of Julia once. He fell silent from guilt, because she didn’t deserve to be forgotten so soon.

Pendrick was eyeing him again, a small wry smile twisting his mouth. It had taken Murdoch till now to recall that was his customary expression. “It seems to me that you’re a man one could fall in love with very easily, William,” he remarked.

Murdoch’s mind went immediately to Julia, and he’d opened his mouth to deny it when the meaning behind Pendrick’s words penetrated. The house suddenly seemed to still around them, as if the air itself was waiting for his response. An instant later he started breathing again, closed his mouth, and met Pendrick’s gaze straight on, aware that the world had altered in some way. “I thought you were already in love with Sally.”

“I was, I am, but there’s hardly a future in that. I’ll count myself lucky if I never cross paths with her again,” Pendrick said candidly. “But to answer your unspoken question, I am perfectly capable of loving someone of another persuasion.”

“…You know this for a fact?”

“I do.” He nodded when Murdoch merely raised his eyebrows. “I had an affair, let’s call it, with a gentleman when I was at university. He was a couple of years behind me, but he made the first move, and most of them thereafter. I finally relented, and we were together for two years.” Pendrick didn’t seem embarrassed to be admitting such a relationship, but he was careful to keep his voice low. “We lost touch when I graduated. The last I heard, Anthony was married and managing a brokerage firm in Montreal.”

“…Did Sally know?”

“Yes. She didn’t mind. It was in the past, and it turns out her affections were not as engaged as I believed anyway.”

Murdoch had many questions, and the nerve to ask none of them. “I was raised to consider such a relationship a sin,” he stated, trying not to sound judgmental. “The Brothers followed a strict interpretation of the Bible.”

“The Brothers?”

“The Jesuit Brotherhood,” he said, then thought to add, “I’m Roman Catholic.”

Pendrick’s face was unreadable. “Of course you are.”

“And a policeman.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“I don’t…” Murdoch had to be honest. “I don’t understand what you’re suggesting.”

His host stood up, rightly deducing that the conversation was not going anywhere productive. “Then don’t concern yourself. Would you like to see what I’ve been working on?” He held out his hand. “Still friends?”

“Yes.”

Pendrick led him to a room at the front of the house that Murdoch had been in many times before when interviewing Pendrick. Back then it was his study and work area, but now it apparently served double duty as his library, lined floor to ceiling on three sides with books and periodicals. His host’s revelation immediately took a back seat to Murdoch’s fascination with the collection before him. In fact, he was so absorbed in reading titles, it was a while before he noticed that Pendrick was sitting at his desk watching him with open enjoyment.

Behind the desk, on a worktable in the far corner, was a large shrouded object. Murdoch started to approach it. “Is this what you’re working on?”

Pendrick rose and steered him smoothly away from it. “No, that’s a toy I play with when I’m between inspirations,” he said. “This is my current fixation.”

He pulled a small box from one of the desk drawers. Inside was a perfectly proportioned miniature version of his horseless carriage, about three inches in diameter. As Murdoch stared, Pendrick rolled it across the wooden surface, where it imitated the real thing in all but noise.

“No motor yet?” Murdoch guessed.

“Not yet, but soon. I plan to install a battery, but so far the dimensions have been a challenge.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“You’re welcome to help. Of course it might mean spending time in my library. There’s a lot of information here to absorb.” Pendrick grinned when Murdoch’s eyes lit up. “You’re welcome here any time, my dear William. No strings attached.”

Murdoch found himself returning the smile. “What will be the carriage’s purpose?”

“I haven’t decided. Perhaps it will just be a child’s toy, perhaps I’ll modify it into a prototype for a brand new kind of vehicle. One that runs on steam rather than electricity.”

“That would indeed be remarkable.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon working on the tiny carriage, testing ignition options. When dinner time came around, Murdoch was sorry the day had to end. He hadn’t enjoyed himself that much since before Julia had left town, and he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t thanks to Pendrick. The man hadn’t alluded to his proposition again, and despite intercepting the occasional obscure look, Murdoch had been completely comfortable with him.

Pendrick drove him home, even offering to let Murdoch drive the full-sized carriage himself.

“Maybe next time,” Murdoch said, and the other’s normally hard eyes glinted at the admission.

As he descended to the street in front of his boarding house, Murdoch extended his hand, and Pendrick clasped it warmly. “Let us get together again soon,” the latter requested. “I have all sorts of ideas for inventions. And you undoubtedly will have all sorts of questions the next time we meet.”

Murdoch could not mistake his meaning. Once he was away from Pendrick’s company, he knew he would be unable to ignore the thought now implanted in his mind. Understanding the relationship Pendrick wanted might well be the most difficult mystery he’d ever had to unravel.

*****

It was another uneventful week at the Station, so Murdoch was able to concentrate on his new puzzle. His first action, or course, was to visit his priest. That discussion went very much as he’d anticipated. Father Bertram would not even listen to his questions; to the clergyman and his brethren, merely admitting to being friends with a homosexual was a sin. Murdoch had to seek answers elsewhere.

His second visit was to the Toronto Hospital for Incurables where Dr. Roberts practiced. The psychiatrist had worked with Murdoch on several recent cases and had the advantage of possessing an exceptionally open mind and long experience with many types of mental illnesses. Murdoch did not believe that homosexuality was a disease, but as a detective, he was determined to cover all angles, follow all leads as it were. He told the doctor that he was investigating a ‘person of interest’ who might be homosexual, which was not technically a lie.

Dr. Roberts gave the matter some consideration, tenting his fingers on his desk as Murdoch waited. “There are medical professionals who believe homosexuals can be ‘cured’,” he finally said. “I do not. Homosexuality has been around since the dawn of time, so I find it hard to accept that it isn’t just another natural state of sexual being. Those who seek treatment for their predilections are in actuality seeking help against a society that calls them mentally ill. Left on their own, there is no reason they can’t live healthy, satisfying lives.”

Having encountered several men who fell into the relevant classification during a past case, Murdoch didn’t dispute that, but the issue was hardly that simple. “Left on their own? But homosexuality is a crime. The police are duty-bound to arrest them. Their families would probably prefer they were sent to a mental hospital like this for treatment rather than to prison.”

“Families aren’t always reacting in the best interest of the subjects.”

“You think there’s no need for legal or medical intervention?”

“I think we’re talking about a law that should never have been enacted.” Roberts shrugged, but his expression and voice were as usual very intense. He believed strongly in a person’s right to be different. “Are you aware that when Queen Victoria passed the law against homosexuality, it only applied to men? The good queen did not believe that women would engage in sexual relations, so there was no point including them in the edict. How, I ask you, can such a law be either useful or just? Perhaps with her passing, the law will be reevaluated.”

“That won’t change the minds of those who consider homosexuals to be mentally ill.”

“No, only time and enlightened government will do that.”

Murdoch didn’t ask the doctor whether he had any patients at the clinic who fit the category they were discussing; knowing Roberts’ views, he had a good idea that the clinic housed more than one type of patient that society thought should be behind bars.

His talk with Roberts reminded Murdoch of someone he never thought to encounter again: Jeffrey Campbell. Jeffrey’s records were still on file at Station No. 4 due to his brief arrest, and Murdoch succeeded in tracking him down next day on neutral territory, a small restaurant near Jeffrey’s office where he habitually ate his lunch.

The tall, slender man turned white as a sheet upon seeing Murdoch, but after a quick glance around the busy room, held his ground at a corner table.

“I’m not here to harass you,” Murdoch promised at once. He sat down without waiting for an invitation that probably wouldn’t come. “I’m hoping you can provide me some information. Everything you tell me will be in strictest confidence. ”

Once he’d explained what he needed, Jeffrey wiped the sweat from his brow and relaxed enough to cooperate. He gave Murdoch several names and addresses, clearly curious as to the detective’s motives, but just as clearly disarmed by his sincerity. He even offered to meet again if Murdoch needed him, and Murdoch couldn’t tell whether that was an improper advance or not.

His next visit was to one of the people on Jeffrey’s list, an attorney who had represented alleged homosexuals in a variety of cases. Murdoch was prepared for another gentleman like Jeffrey, but Mr. Haddock turned out to be a stout, middle-aged man with dyed mutton chops and a monocle. He listened to Murdoch’s inquiries as if it were not the first time he’d heard them. He wasn’t interested in why Murdoch was asking, and if he weren’t a policeman, Murdoch suspected the attorney would have refused to see him.

“I suppose my real question is this,” Murdoch finally said, having as he spoke narrowed down what he most needed to know. “What is the prosecutable crime?”

Mr. Haddock exhaled mightily. “It depends on who you ask,” he admitted. “The law states that men having carnal knowledge of each other is a crime. But what is carnal knowledge? Is it being naked with another man? Does touching have to be involved? Does some sort of sexual act have to occur? Does there have to be actual penetration?” He evidently noticed the color blossom in Murdoch’s face, for whom the idea of penetration had never even entered his mind. “Sorry, Detective.

“In my experience, the prosecutable crime is getting caught. A man can be taken to trial if he confesses to committing a homosexual act, is witnessed committing a homosexual act, or is accused of committing a homosexual act with an unwilling partner. Beyond that, in my opinion, the law is merely an excuse to expose and ostracize men who might otherwise be perfectly fine fellows. It doesn’t matter whether they’re convicted, and the judicial system doesn’t really want them in prison anyway; that would just cause disorder and degeneracy. What the judicial system wants is for them to stay invisible.”

Murdoch was still flushed when he left the attorney’s office, but at least he could be positive that none of the described scenarios would ever be applicable to him. In all honesty, he couldn’t imagine them being applicable to James Pendrick either.

With Mr. Haddock’s information in mind, his next stop was at the clinic that Jeffrey had recommended. There he sat in the waiting room for nearly an hour agonizing over how to phrase his questions, but in the end, Dr. Coombs came and found him, explaining that Jeffrey had contacted him earlier.

“He told me to look for a very uncomfortable man with striking dark eyes,” the doctor said once they were closed in his examination room. He rather reminded Murdoch of Crabtree, if the constable had curly hair and freckles. His eyes were as wide and guileless as Crabtree’s. “I understand you’re doing some sensitive research.”

“Yes. Did Mr. Campbell tell you what sort?”

“The sort a police detective rarely gets involved with. You want to know about the physical mechanics of homosexual relations.” Dr. Coombs giggled at Murdoch’s expression, a high-pitched sound that should have set Murdoch at ease, but just grated. The doctor suddenly seemed far too young to know the details he was about to share. “I’m guessing that what you’re curious about are the different options: frottage, oral, anal, etc.”

He went on to matter-of-factly describe each act while Murdoch alternately blushed, blanched, stared at his shoes and at the ceiling. It took him a minute to realize when the doctor had stopped talking, the images in his head nearly crowding out his hearing. “You weren’t ready for that, were you?” Dr. Coombs asked kindly. “May I ask what type of case you’re working on? Should I be prepared for patients in the clinic?”

“No… no, it’s not that sort of case,” Murdoch mumbled. “Thank you. I think that’s all I need…”

“If it helps, not all men perform all those acts. It’s a matter of personal taste. If something isn’t erotic, it isn’t erotic, and all the prodding in the world isn’t going to change that -”

Murdoch grabbed his hat and retreated before the doctor could embarrass him further.

He resumed his investigation next day. He’d had a restless night, and while his dreams were suggestive and perplexing, at least they weren’t about losing Julia. He awoke with an erection, which he wasn’t used to; he’d thought he’d outgrown that in his twenties. Blaming it on an overactive imagination, he dealt with it rapidly, deliberately not thinking of anyone in particular.

The next name on his list held the title of Religious Philosopher at the University of Toronto. Professor Jackson was elderly, his eyes huge behind thickly-framed spectacles. He wasn’t an expert on any facet of homosexuality, but Murdoch felt he’d taken that lead as far as he could go. Now he needed to reconcile what he was learning with what his faith had always taught him.

The professor didn’t seem to care why a police detective would be interviewing him; he spoke as if giving a lecture, clearly assuming that any audience was there solely to absorb his vast knowledge.

“Fascinating subject,” he began. “Now you must understand that the Catholic Church and the Bible are two different animals when it comes to homosexuality. The Church has a history of contradiction and hypocrisy, and its stance on deviance has changed over the centuries to suit its own behavior, and by that I mean the behavior of the Pope and his minions, which at times can’t be called anything but deviant.” He was oblivious to Murdoch’s quick frown; Murdoch was aware of his church’s checkered past, but that didn’t mean he was happy talking about it. “The Vatican’s current position of condemnation has been around long enough to be accepted by its followers, of course, but its basis is questionable.”

“It’s based on the teachings of the Bible,” Murdoch said tightly.

“The Bible has been translated so many times, from and into so many languages, no one can be sure what it originally said about homosexuality or anything else. We accept the writings of the prophets and apostles when they agree with our own desires, and by our own, I mean society’s. We accept that charity is a virtue, and that one should not steal, or fornicate with one’s neighbor’s wife, because society needs those rules in order to maintain the status quo. We accept that homosexuality is a sin because most of society has no reason to believe otherwise. It’s the members of society who are directly affected by that condemnation who have begun disputing it. I could easily argue their point, and I could just as easily argue against it. There is no clear cut answer.”

Murdoch was disappointed, but not surprised. “The bottom line is that if the Catholic Church says it’s a sin, then it’s a sin, historical discrepancies or not.”

“True, for Papists at least. I’ve heard of other churches with more progressive views -”

“Thank you.” He didn’t want to hear about other churches; the one he belonged to was the only one that mattered.

When he got home that evening, Murdoch found a note awaiting him from Pendrick saying that he’d had to leave for Montreal suddenly for a business meeting but that he expected to be back on Saturday. He didn’t want Murdoch to think he was avoiding him or the need to continue their myriad discussions. Somehow, reading the man’s assurance between the lines made Murdoch feel better about the course of his research.

On Friday Murdoch sent a note to Jeffrey Campbell, asking if they could meet again in a less public place. He signed it with his full title, hoping the gentleman was astute enough to understand that he was not requesting an assignation. Jeffrey invited him to his flat in Corktown that evening.

They settled in a room evidently used by the bachelor as his study when it wasn’t serving as a parlor, and Jeffrey offered Murdoch a drink. He raised his eyebrows when Murdoch declined.

“I’m willing to wager you are not on duty this evening, Detective,” he said. “How can I help you this time?”

Murdoch saw no choice but to reveal part of his dilemma. “I have a friend who has recently admitted to me that he has had a homosexual relationship. He’s a man I respect, and I’m trying to understand.”

Jeffrey nodded. “And I’m the only other homosexual you know, aren’t I?”

“I’m sorry, yes.” It now struck Murdoch that since he never would have guessed Pendrick’s secret, it was possible other acquaintances were also concealing their preferences. “As far as I know.”

“And you want to understand how an otherwise respectable man could desire the company of other respectable men.” Jeffrey sipped from his scotch and considered. “It’s not really a choice, you know. Personally, I discovered when I was not even twenty years old that women didn’t hold any appeal for me. Most of my friends had similar epiphanies, often at even younger ages. It’s not the sort of discovery one can share with one’s family or school chums. In fact it wasn’t until I found the ‘Tennis Club’ that I met other like-minded gentlemen and learned that I needn’t bury myself alone in a dark cave.” There was a trace of bitterness in Jeffrey’s deep voice, but it vanished with his next words. “I met my first lover there. It didn’t last; to be honest, I didn’t know what I was looking for in a lover at that time. Am I being too frank, Detective?”

Murdoch shook his head. “Compared to Dr. Coombs, you’re being positively discreet.”

That made the other smile. “Yes, I thought the doctor would make an impression. Perhaps I was testing your resolve. Yet here you are. You must care for your friend very much.”

“I suppose I do.”

“Well, if he’s your friend, I imagine he’s not the sort to cat around. Is he currently in a relationship?” His eyes widened when Murdoch hesitated before shaking his head again. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“No, of course not.” Jeffery finished off half his drink before continuing in a much more forthright manner, all teasing gone, and Murdoch was reminded why he’d been drawn to the man when their paths initially crossed. In every way that counted, he seemed like a person Murdoch might enjoy socializing with. “Despite your infamous visit, the Tennis Club is a very private, safe organization. We all know the dangers of exposure, and I assure you I would never put another man at risk, whether he was a member or not. It’s a code of honor, I suppose.

“That said, I’m not sure you have the right idea about us. The term itself, homosexuality, gives the impression that our relationships revolve around sex, and that’s not necessarily the case. It specifies our gender preference, but not how we act on it.”

“That’s the most useful thing anyone has said to me all week,” Murdoch admitted. “Please go on.”

“I know men who’ve loved for years without acting on it physically. I’ve also known men in long-term relationships as intimate as any between a man and a woman. In the end, it’s not only the physical aspect that makes a union work; it’s the emotional connection, the… ”

“The meeting of minds.”

“The mutual desire to make it work. It happens I’ve just met someone. I’m not sure whether it’s going to last, but so far we’re very compatible, and I’m hoping it does.”

“Can it? Given the society we live in?”

“It will take vigilance on our part, and the support of friends. But if you’re asking whether love between men is capable of enduring, absolutely. I know a couple who’ve been together longer than my grandparents.”

Murdoch was silent for a moment, trying to get his head around the concept. He’d had no idea. “Thank you for being candid with me,” he finally said. “I won’t bother you again.”

“Please do, if you’re seeking accurate information. There’s a lot of hysterical nonsense being written and spread about what men do together. For your friend’s sake, you should know the truth.”

On his way home, Murdoch reflected that he now had two homosexual friends.

*****

Saturday evening after work, Murdoch rode his bicycle out to the Pendrick house. He’d spent the day mulling over all he’d learned and attempting to determine how he felt about it. Pendrick’s overture still confused him, but he thought he was now armed with enough knowledge to respond to it.

There was a light on in the library, just to the right of the front door, and Pendrick answered his knock quickly. He was in his shirt-sleeves and vest again, his hair uncombed, but he produced a wide smile when he saw it was Murdoch.

“I was hoping you’d come by,” he said, ushering him in. “I’m in the library going over some papers. One of my colleagues in Montreal has some intriguing ideas regarding a new metal alloy that will resist rust and corrosion.” He rested his hand very briefly on Murdoch’s shoulder as they entered that room. “I was planning to break for dinner soon. Mary made her candied ham, which I assure you cannot be turned down.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Murdoch said. He set aside his hat, unaccountably happy to be there. As Pendrick shuffled his papers into a folder, Murdoch again noticed the large shrouded form in the corner. It appeared to have expanded. “What is that?”

Pendrick barely glanced at it. “Just a diversion for my spare time. Come.” He turned out the light in the library and led Murdoch back to the dining room, where that evening’s meal was already set out. It looked delicious, and somewhat gelid. “Damn, I forgot to ask Mary to keep it in the oven. It will be inedible. Well, perhaps we can dine out tonight.”

Murdoch gave him a look. “I know my way around a kitchen, James. Between us, I suspect we can figure out how to reheat a ham.”

That had apparently not occurred to Pendrick, who laughed. “Two geniuses such as we? It’s certainly worth a try.”

The kitchen was as well-outfitted as Murdoch expected, and in no time they’d managed to selvage their dinner. In the icebox Murdoch even located a carafe of lemonade which obviously had his name on it. Pendrick grinned when he brought it to the table. The man himself was again drinking wine.

“Thank you for thinking of this,” Murdoch said, taking his usual seat and filling his glass. “I’ve decided I’d better save alcohol for special occasions.”

“As you wish. Have I said how glad I am that you stopped by?”

“I thought I’d been invited.”

“Consider it an open invitation then. I hate to dine alone.” Pendrick served them both and continued to chat while they ate.

The meal was indeed worth their effort, and Murdoch felt himself relaxing for the first time in days. He was waiting for his host to bring up the topic that had obsessed him all week, but Pendrick seemed bent on avoiding it. For a heart-stopping moment Murdoch wondered if all his research had been for naught; it was entirely possible that one mention of him being Roman Catholic, as well as a policeman, had changed Pendrick’s mind. The possibility left Murdoch gob-smacked, and he wasn’t sure why.

“William?” Pendrick drew him back to the present. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Shall we adjourn to the library then? I’ve made some advances on that electrical ignition for the miniature.” When Murdoch didn’t move, Pendrick sat back, studying him through narrowed eyes. After a minute he poured himself another glass of wine. “I’ve missed something, haven’t I?”

“No. I’m confused.”

“You didn’t seem so when you arrived. You seemed to have reached a decision. I assumed it was not in my favor, but that you’re too much of a gentleman to come out and say it.”

“I haven’t reached a decision,” Murdoch claimed, although he wasn’t sure that was true. “I just don’t know what comes next.”

Pendrick’s gaze had softened. “That’s up to you. I feel like I know you very well, my dear William, but not well enough to guess your tastes in romance.”

Murdoch wished he could refrain from blushing. His next words were not what he expected. “Do I remind you of Anthony?”

“Not at all. Anthony was blond with sea-green eyes. Taller than you, and a bit more muscular.” Pendrick knew better than to leave it at that. “I was a different person twenty years ago, and what I was looking for then is nothing like what I’m seeking now. You’re a very attractive man, I’ve thought so since we met, but it’s more than that. I enjoy your company, the way you think. I would like to get to know you more intimately, but not if it means scaring you off. Your friendship is more important to me.”

“I’ve been doing some research on the subject -”

“Imagine that.”

Murdoch recognized that he was being teased; people seemed to enjoy doing that to him lately. “I wanted to understand what you were suggesting. Why you would suggest it. And what was expected of me.”

“For now, all I expect of you is that you give me a chance to apologize if I do something to offend you,” Pendrick said. “For instance…” He reached across the table and grasped Murdoch’s hand. It took a few seconds for Murdoch to resist the urge to pull away; it was so much larger and coarser than the hands he’d held in the past. It was also disconcertingly strong. “You’re not used to being touched, are you?”

“Other than Julia, there’s been no one… no reason… No, I’m not.”

“I’d like to change that, if you’re willing.”

Murdoch locked eyes with him and rationalized that a simple thing like this didn’t have to lead to anything sinful or unlawful. “I’m willing.”

He slept in the same bed that night, in the room that had thankfully been aired and no longer smelled of Sally’s perfume. Pendrick supplied pajamas again, but didn’t enter the room until Murdoch was changed. Then he lingered in the doorway to the lavatory, dressed for bed in blue silk, but making no assumptions.

“I hope you’re a patient man,” Murdoch ventured.

“I can be.”

“Can you…” He blushed, and wondered if it could be seen in the dim light from the lamp on the nightstand. “I’m not ready for… anything.”

Pendrick climbed into the bed beside him. “I can sleep beside you without being driven mad with lust, I promise.” He stroked Murdoch’s cheek with one finger, so quickly Murdoch had no chance to pull away. “I will never ask you to do anything you don’t want.”

He put out the light and Murdoch felt him get comfortable, close but not touching. Other than the night of his wine binge, Murdoch hadn’t shared a bed since childhood, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep. However, once Pendrick’s breathing grew slow and even, he slipped very easily into a deep slumber and wasn’t aware of anything again till morning.

*****

He awoke with Pendrick’s hand resting on his chest, the only physical contact between them. He didn’t mention it upon waking, and Murdoch realized that it was probably unconscious. Pendrick’s sleeping brain apparently sought a connection, and Murdoch really didn’t mind the light touch. It reminded him that he‘d begun a new chapter in his life every time it happened.

From that day on, Murdoch spent weekends at the house, heading there after work on Saturday and staying till Sunday evening. Sometimes they worked on whatever project held Pendrick’s interest that week, sometimes they read in comfortable silence. One Saturday when Murdoch arrived, a billiard table had appeared in the library, and after that they frequently played. Since both men used mathematical calculations to gauge their shots, they were fairly evenly matched.

The day that Murdoch got home to his flat to find an urgent summons to the station, he had to inform his fellow policemen where he could be found on weekends. His enthusiasm towards Pendrick’s library was all most of them needed to hear; only Brackenreid made a snide remark about bunking with his betters, but there wasn’t any rancor behind it. The murder Murdoch had been called in to investigate soon occupied his attention. It also occupied his and Pendrick’s dinner conversation until it had been solved.

Murdoch rarely saw Pendrick’s servants. Only Mary, a thin woman in her fifties, was there Sunday mornings, and she seemed pleased to have someone to cook for besides her employer. The maid, a small Italian woman named Fiona, only came in on weekdays, and the gardener showed up only when the grounds in front of the house needed tending. The expanse in back of the house, as Murdoch soon discovered, had been let grow wild. The pool and surrounding area were empty and abandoned.

“I’d like to have use of the pool again,” Pendrick remarked once when they were taking a stroll outside after dinner. “Other needs take priority, I’m afraid. After I’ve paid off my investors, perhaps I can hire someone to maintain it.”

Murdoch hadn’t really given much thought to his host’s financial situation. He knew Pendrick had lost his share of the downtown buildings he’d helped design, but he never seemed to want for ready cash. They tended to dine out once or twice a week, and while Murdoch always offered to pay his way, Pendrick always refused. His definition of being broke was evidently very different from Murdoch’s.

One evening while he was reading in what had come to be known as ‘his’ chair, Murdoch noticed that Pendrick had left the library. A few minutes later the distant sound of a symphony reached his ears. He followed the melody into the foyer and on to the room on the other side of the front door, where Pendrick had set up a Victrola. The man was going around the circumference of the large room lighting sconces and pulling sheets off chairs and loveseats.

“Sally’s ballroom,” he explained when he saw Murdoch looking around the otherwise empty space. The dark hardwood floor was in sad need of buffing. “I was in the mood for music, and this is the only Victrola in the house. Not that she approved of it, of course. Sally preferred her music performed by live musicians. But I like listening while I work, and we could hardly keep an orchestra on call.”

Murdoch recognized the piece playing, one that Julia had been wont to listen to in her work area. He hadn’t thought of her in weeks, and suddenly wondered what she would make of his new friendship.

“Would you rather listen to something else?” Pendrick asked. As usual, he was alert to every change in Murdoch’s expression. “Do you dance? I have some magnificent waltzes.”

That startled a laugh out of Murdoch. “Dance? Us?”

“You may lead, if you don’t know how to follow.” Pendrick arched an eyebrow. “I dare you.”

With a playful grin, he removed the symphony recording and placed a different one on the turntable, then walked over to Murdoch and raised his arms to the appropriate level to begin dancing. Murdoch still wanted to laugh, but he did the same as a waltz began playing. They joined together more easily than he’d expected, but with the first step, Murdoch knew he was out of his depth.

Pendrick gently repositioned their arms. He was smirking now. “I’ll lead,” he stated. “You try to keep up without kicking me.”

With that he began spinning Murdoch around the room in a perfect waltz. The music was quick and light, and to Murdoch it seemed they were moving much too fast for it, but it was just that Pendrick was leading him in longer and longer strides, covering the floor as if flying. Murdoch knew he wasn’t capable of dancing this well, but he also knew he couldn’t make a misstep with Pendrick holding him so securely. The other man was in complete control of both their movements as they circled the room over and over.

When the music finally ended, they collapsed in unison on the nearest divan. Murdoch was out of breath and bemused, and Pendrick was openly beaming.

“Either I’ve done a disservice to every woman I’ve ever danced with,” Murdoch gasped, “or that was not a standard waltz.” He stared at his partner, amazed at the man’s strength and grace, and the fact that he’d never felt anything so exhilarating. Dancing with Julia had never come close. Even dancing with Liza during their engagement had always been decorous and formal. “Did you dance like that with Sally?”

“Not after the first time,” Pendrick admitted. He took Murdoch’s hand, still warm from their previous clasp. “Panting and perspiration were not her style. No, the only other person I’ve danced like that with was my cousin. She was a few years older and a bit of a tomboy. When our parents insisted she teach me to waltz, she took the opportunity to annoy them by showing me exactly what not to do. I don’t know any other woman who would put up with it.”

“I will,” Murdoch said. He met Pendrick’s eyes and very deliberately squeezed his fingers, the first time he’d encouraged anything remotely physical.

Pendrick brought Murdoch’s hand to his lips and bestowed a feather-light kiss. “If I’d known how much you’d enjoy it, I would have opened the room weeks ago. You’re a man of many surprises, my dear William.”

“As are you.”

After that they danced regularly, often the rapid waltz, as Murdoch came to call it, but sometimes a slower more traditional waltz which involved little more than holding each other as they glided around the floor. Pendrick always led, but Murdoch didn’t mind. They fit well together; Pendrick was leaner and slightly taller, but somehow Murdoch’s own trim figure complimented his. Murdoch’s stamina was also equal, probably thanks to the amount of time spent on his bicycle.

One Saturday evening they’d just finished a rapid waltz when there was a knock at the front door. Pendrick went to answer it while Murdoch lounged in the ballroom, but he jumped up with a start upon hearing George Crabtree’s voice asking for him.

“There’s been a murder, Sir,” the constable said when Murdoch hurried into the foyer, turning down his shirt sleeves as he went. “They need you at a warehouse on Sholter Street.”

“Of course.” Murdoch turned to retrieve his suit coat from the library, only to have Pendrick appear with it, along with his necktie and hat. “I’m sorry, I need to go.”

“So I see. I’ll be awake late, if you’re able to wrap up your work this evening,” Pendrick said. Murdoch nodded, trying to telegraph his regret at the abrupt end to their day.

As they mounted their bicycles, Crabtree glanced back at the house. “When I rode up, Sir, I thought I heard music.”

“You did. Mr. Pendrick had a Victrola playing.”

“You and the gentlemen seemed to be out of breath. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

Murdoch couldn’t read his tone, but the words seemed innocuous enough. “We were experimenting with some indoor cardio-vascular exercises,” he said, inwardly assuring his conscience it wasn’t a lie.

“Cardio…”

“Heart and lung health, George.”

“I see.”

By the time they reached the crime scene, they were engrossed in the case and Pendrick wasn’t mentioned again. It was only when Murdoch made his way back to the house around midnight that he realized it had never even crossed his mind not to return that evening.

The case lasted nearly a week and was the first of many that occupied Murdoch’s days over the next few months. Pendrick too got absorbed with his work, making several trips to Montreal, but always during the week. Saturdays and Sundays remained their time together, whether they passed it talking over investigations or inventions. They played billiards and occasionally cards, and very often they danced.

Murdoch appreciated the leisurely pace of their relationship. Little by little he felt his long-held reserve fading; he even started initiating the small touches and caresses that seemed second nature to Pendrick. The night that he went to bed without his pajama top was a momentous occasion.

Pendrick had developed the habit of resting his hand on Murdoch’s silk-covered chest while falling asleep, and sometimes by morning had managed to slip it under the fabric, but seeing his chest naked seemed to strike the man speechless. Slowly and very deliberately Pendrick removed his own top, watching Murdoch’s face as if afraid he might change his mind at any second. When Murdoch turned out the light as usual and lay back, he heard Pendrick release the breath he’d been holding. A moment later his now very familiar hand settled on Murdoch’s bare skin. For a split second Murdoch imagined copying the gesture, but his insides trembled at the mere thought. He ended up laying his hand over Pendrick’s instead.

Next day Murdoch got the answer to a question Pendrick had been avoiding from day one: the secret of what was hidden beneath the shroud in the library. Over time it had steadily grown from about three feet in diameter to five and now required a second table to support it. Murdoch had stopped asking about it long before.

“When I was a boy,” Pendrick suddenly said over breakfast, “I had a contraption, a toy that absolutely enchanted me. It was made of wood and consisted of several dozen rails and tunnels that could be attached at odd angles. The idea was to roll a marble from one end to the other without it dropping to the floor. I used to play with it for hours, adding my own hand-made attachments and devising new and more challenging configurations. I think it’s what first sparked my interest in engineering.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No, it was lost long ago. However, what’s the point of being a genius if I can’t build a better one?”

There was a glint in his eye as he led Murdoch into the library. When Pendrick crossed to the covered tables, Murdoch was ready to be impressed; he wasn’t ready for his jaw to drop at the sight of what had to be yards and yards of gleaming steel track that ran up, down, around, through, over, under and behind an endless array of obstacles, weights and shutters.

“That’s… quite some toy,” he remarked. It was almost too much to take in at once.

“I hadn’t intended it to become so elaborate, but whenever I’m bored or in need of inspiration, I add to it.” Pendrick indicated a section that looked suspiciously like a piece of his horseless carriage. “Sally thought I was insane. I’m just thankful she considered it worthless.”

“It’s not worthless,” Murdoch stated, still staring. “May I see it in action?”

The man handed Murdoch a large glass marble. “Be my guest.”

The entry point was obvious, and Murdoch carefully dropped the marble into a small metal cup. With a click, it took off down the nearest metal chute, hit a curve, then continued on its way. Overall it took nearly three minutes to travel through every section of the track, stopping when it was supposed to, and starting again when some other part of the contraption moved into place. At the end it dropped neatly into a second metal holder.

“Does it have a name?” Murdoch asked.

“Not yet, although it was known for the life of my marriage as ‘that thing in the library’.” Pendrick’s voice was dry, but Murdoch could tell he was loving every minute of his demonstration. “My plan now is to extend it back around toward the beginning and connect it so that the marble will roll continuously ad infinitum.”

“That’s the most ingenious device I’ve ever seen.”

“Or course it isn’t,” Pendrick replied, then noted Murdoch’s expression. He took a step closer, but hesitated with his hand a few inches from Murdoch’s shoulder. “Am I misreading you?”

“No.” Murdoch moved the last small distance and accepted Pendrick’s embrace. It suddenly seemed effortless. When the other man lowered his mouth to Murdoch’s, his only protest was an involuntary gasp, and neither took notice of it. Pendrick kissed Murdoch at length but very tenderly, not suggesting anything deeper. Murdoch was both relieved and sorry when it ended.

“My dear William -” Pendrick began, only to be interrupted by a knock at the front door. He released Murdoch with a sigh and went to look out the window. “Alas, duty calls in the inimitable form of Constable Crabtree. Has your station no other constables?”

He was right: it was Crabtree and there’d been another murder. Murdoch took his leave with a last look from Pendrick to his toy, unsure when he would return.

This case took more than two weeks to wrap up and allowed Murdoch little time for anything else. It was also a very nasty one, and even when he and Pendrick found a chance to dine out together, he didn’t want to talk about it. He listened as Pendrick described a new machine under development that was supposed to be able to cool the inside of a closed building, and wished they were home alone.

That was the first time he thought of the Pendrick house as home.

It was nearly a month before they again shared a bed, and Murdoch felt as if he’d lost any ground he’d gained. He still welcomed Pendrick’s frequent touches, but although he felt closer to this man than anyone else he knew, the idea of initiating anything physical left him cold.

That night he opted not to remove his pajama top, but left it unbuttoned as a compromise. Pendrick left his on as well.

“I’m sorry,” Murdoch began once they were safe in the dark. “It’s not that I don’t -”

“William,” Pendrick interrupted, “I want more of you, of course I do. But if this is all you can ever offer me, I won’t turn it down.”

Murdoch rolled onto his side to face him even though his bedmate was barely visible. “It isn’t. I mean, I don’t think it is.” He felt a warm hand laid over his heart. “James…”

“I was right, you know. It _was_ easy to fall in love with you.”

The world tilted, and Murdoch’s mind was suddenly clearer than it had been in weeks. He reached out in the dark and pulled the other into his arms, shivering at the sensation of Pendrick’s skin against his. “Don’t give up on me,” he requested. “Please don’t give up on me.”

“Never,” Pendrick breathed into his ear. His wrapped his arms firmly around Murdoch and didn’t let go all night long.

*****

Two weeks later Murdoch moved out of his flat and into the Pendrick house. He had no choice but to inform the constabulary, but from the reactions of most of his colleagues, they’d already given him up as a lost cause and nothing he did would surprise them. Inspector Brackenreid rolled his eyes. Constable Crabtree was the only one who seemed a bit stunned, but he didn’t comment.

Seeing each other every day made all the difference. They kept the same sleeping arrangement, claiming it was more economical and practical to share a lavatory than to expect Fiona to add more work to her schedule. Neither she nor Mary seemed to suspect that both bedrooms were not being slept in. Murdoch had usually risen and left for the station before they arrived anyway, so little changed in that respect. Since the rooms were at the front of the house, the location also made sense for when Crabtree had to come fetch him at odd hours for a case. The constable had been alerted that there were no servants in residence and to bang the knocker on the door till someone answered.

For the first time, they went to a public lecture together. Murdoch had been a little nervous, unsure how he and Pendrick would interact outside the privacy of the house. To his relief it was no different than attending an event with Julia, a bit more relaxed perhaps, because he had never been entirely relaxed in her company, but nothing to dread. After that, they frequently went to lectures, concerts, and stage shows. Murdoch even let Pendrick lend him a suitable jacket and ascot.

It was a pleasant interlude. No unusually grisly murders occurred, and Murdoch was able to concentrate at work on his newest acquisition, something called a ‘vacuum cleaner’ that he was adapting to serve as an evidence collector. He was engrossed in it one afternoon when he heard Brackenreid come stomping out of his office muttering, “What _is_ that I’m hearing?”

George Crabtree volunteered, “I believe it’s a waltz, Sir.”

Murdoch, who hadn’t realized till then that he was whistling, looked up in time to receive the Inspector’s glare. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Cut it out, Murdoch. Some of us have actual work to do around here.”

He returned to his lair, and Murdoch did his best not to display his contentment anywhere other than at home.

One evening a few days later, they went to the ballroom after dinner so that Pendrick could play a new recording he’d purchased. It was a waltz, and they were in dance position when it started, planning to enjoy a rapid twirl about the floor.

“I know this one,” Murdoch said upon hearing the first few notes. “It’s called Waves of the Danube, isn’t it? It was being played the night we met.” He reddened slightly at how that sounded. “Among other music.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that, my dear. You certainly have a head for minutia.”

“It’s a useful trait for a detective,” Murdoch retorted, shifting their hands so that he was in the lead. Pendrick allowed him to maneuver them into a slow, languid waltz that continued long after the music had finished. In complete silence they swayed in each other’s arms.

Murdoch was enjoying the warmth and intimacy of their embrace, his only concern that it not be interrupted by a knock at the door. It actually took him a few moments to realize that his partner was not quite as calm; in fact, a certain part of Pendrick was starting to demand both their attention. When Pendrick abruptly pulled away, he looked quite chagrinned.

“This was not deliberate,” Pendrick said, unable to hide the swelling in his pants. He seemed a bit wary, and Murdoch had to acknowledge that the man really had no hint how he would react. Based on Murdoch’s behavior to this point, he might well be a big enough prude to be shocked. “I’ve said I would wait -”

“I trust you,” Murdoch stated. He couldn’t quite look at the anatomical area they were discussing, but he wasn’t shocked or even dismayed. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Pendrick took a deep breath. “I think it would be wise if we chose a different activity for the evening.”

Murdoch agreed. They relocated to the library where both found some reading to do.

The following morning Murdoch awoke briefly when his bedmate rose unusually early. Pendrick must have seen Murdoch’s eyelids twitch, because he leaned over and kissed him softly on the temple before leaving the room. Murdoch immediately fell back to sleep.

It wasn’t till a couple of weeks later, when he’d come to the conclusion that Pendrick now liked to get an early start on his work, that Murdoch realized what was happening. One morning he was sleepily aware of odd noises from behind the closed lavatory door. Murdoch may have been inexperienced, but he recognized the final sound instantly for what it was and came wide awake.  

While Pendrick cleaned up and exited the small chamber via the other room, Murdoch mentally kicked himself for being so obtuse. He’d trained his own body to ignore sexual urges, but there was no reason for Pendrick not to indulge his needs. Murdoch felt himself blushing from head to toe at the thought of being an unintentional tease.

Fortunately it was a Sunday, so he didn’t have to wait long to remedy his error. Once Mary had gone for the day, Murdoch joined Pendrick in the library. The latter had been knocking balls around the billiard table aimlessly, but he welcomed Murdoch with a smile and offered a second cue stick.

“Shall we play?”

“I’d rather talk,” Murdoch said seriously. He leaned against the table and tried to decide how to broach the subject. “James, I frustrate you, don’t I?”

Pendrick set down the cues and came to face him. “My dear William, you always have.”

“I mean… It’s not fair to you.” Murdoch exhaled when it was clear that the other wasn’t following. “I’m saying we don’t need to wait.”

Now Pendrick froze. “What’s changed?”

“My thinking.” Murdoch raised one hand to stroke the man’s face, finding that it wasn’t so difficult after all. Pendrick clearly welcomed his touch. “I’ve been treating you badly, and I apologize for that. I may not be able to do everything you’d like me to, but it doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolut -”

He’d been expecting an eager response, but being pulled into a hard kiss was not on his list. The gentleness Pendrick had shown till then was gone, and his strength was obvious as he overwhelmed Murdoch with passion. Leaving Murdoch’s lips, Pendrick kissed and sucked his way down his chest, pushing aside clothing as he went. When he reached Murdoch’s trousers, he paused, knelt, and then unfastened them with a very talented tongue. Murdoch’s libido sat up and took notice at the sight. He immediately tried to back away and was blocked by the table.

“Relax,” Pendrick whispered, opening the rest of Murdoch’s clothing to get at his now hardening member. The hot grip of his hand made Murdoch slump; if the table hadn’t been there he would have landed on the floor. Pendrick’s next move, to replace his hand with his mouth, turned Murdoch’s legs to jelly. He heard himself making extraordinary sounds, but couldn’t form them into words. He didn’t know what to do with his hands till one of them got hold of Pendrick’s hair, the other eventually finding a grip on the edge of the billiard table. By the time Pendrick had swallowed him whole, Murdoch was seeing colored spots in front of his eyes and only the man’s hands on his hips were holding him upright.

It happened very quickly, although to Murdoch it felt like half the day had passed before he came with a hoarse cry. When Pendrick finished licking him clean, he stood up and moved in for another kiss. Breathless and reeling, Murdoch didn’t even realize at first that he was tasting his own seed. His vocal skills were still on hiatus.

“That was beautiful,” Pendrick murmured, finally allowing enough space between them to see Murdoch’s face. He frowned at Murdoch’s look of stunned confusion, then his eyes opened wide. “William, was that your first time?” Murdoch managed a shaky nod, and the other paled. “I’m a fool. I should have realized.” He held Murdoch close till his trembling stopped. “Forgive me.”

Murdoch rested his head on Pendrick’s shoulder. “For what?”

“For not making it more memorable.”

“How can you possibly imagine that this wasn’t memorable?” Murdoch licked his lips gingerly; they were a bit raw. Something glaring finally occurred to him. “This isn’t why I came in. It was _you_ who were frustrated.”

Pendrick laughed quietly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’d like to sit down.”

“I have a better idea.”

Murdoch accompanied him upstairs to his bedroom, where Pendrick helped him strip to his shorts and lay down. He then followed suit, and Murdoch made a point of noting that the man was telling the truth about not being in immediate need.

“It’s mid-afternoon,” Murdoch pointed out. Other than during illness or injury, he’d never lain in bed at this time of day in his life.

“Pretend it’s not,” Pendrick advised. Propped on one elbow, he faced Murdoch and used his other hand to slowly stroke Murdoch’s collar bone. “If necessary, pretend it’s dark.”

That reminded Murdoch that this was the first time he was seeing his bedmate virtually naked in daylight. It wasn’t the cataclysmic event he’d expected: Pendrick was an attractive man and Murdoch was so used to his physical presence that it just felt natural.

He ventured to lay his hand on Pendrick’s shoulder, and the other smiled.

“I gather you and your fiancée never…?”

“She was Roman Catholic too.”

“And Julia Ogden?”

“We never got that far.”

Pendrick couldn’t hide his bewilderment. “I can guess your Jesuit Brotherhood’s stance on self-gratification. What alternative did you find?” He answered his own question when Murdoch just looked puzzled. “Your work, of course.”

“It takes most of my time and attention.”

“Past tense, please.”

Murdoch smiled a little, but now that he’d recovered from his unexpected climax, his earlier oversight still disturbed him. “The next time you’re frustrated, let me… assist you. I can’t do that,” he gestured in the direction of the library, “but I know about frottage and other… ways…”

“I’m sure your research was very thorough.”

“Tomorrow morning, if you can’t sleep, wake me.”

“Ah, so that’s it.” Pendrick shifted a little closer, his bare leg bumping against Murdoch’s. When Murdoch didn’t draw away, he playfully did it again. “I didn’t think you knew.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.”

“No harm done.”

When Murdoch had no reply, Pendrick simply pulled him into a loose embrace and closed his eyes. After a comfortable moment, Murdoch admitted that he too could use some sleep. Being pressed against so much of the other’s warm skin didn’t even faze him.

They stayed there until there was the inevitable knock on the front door. Pendrick got to the window first and opened it, leaned out curiously, then beckoned Murdoch over.

“It appears your constable is attempting to peer into the library,” he said. “You’d better acknowledge him before he climbs into one of the planters.”

Murdoch called down to Crabtree that he would be right there, and grinned as Crabtree sheepishly backed out of the bushes.

Next morning Murdoch caught Pendrick as he was about to leave the bed. He’d been looking forward to returning the incredible gift Pendrick had given him the day before. All through dinner and afterwards he’d found himself studying his companion, trying to imagine how it would feel to touch him, arouse him, and watch him in the throes of climax. By the time he’d fallen asleep, he was pretty certain he could do it.

He’d half expected Pendrick to attempt to dodge him when the time came, but Murdoch was having none of it.

“Stay,” he requested, grasping Pendrick’s hand as the man leaned over to kiss his forehead, his daily greeting before disappearing into the next room. “I want you.”

Pendrick stilled. His need was obvious, but upon seeing Murdoch in the same condition, he blinked. “What do you have in mind?”

Murdoch didn’t plan to talk about it; he drew Pendrick down on top of him and caught his breath when their erections met through the thin fabric of their shorts. For a second he feared that he might finish before his partner, but judging by the look on his face and the urgency of his movements, Pendrick wasn’t going to last long either. Their bodies knew what to do, and before Murdoch had time to analyze the mechanics of the act, which he’d fully intended, they’d reached their goal. He couldn’t even tell which of their cries was louder.

Pendrick sank down and rested his head on Murdoch’s shoulder, as if aware that Murdoch didn’t want their contact, sweaty and sticky though it was, to end.

“Are you all right?” he asked presently.

“Yes… It all happened so fast… What time is it?”

“Too early to get up.”

Murdoch stroked Pendrick’s hair as he drifted into sleep, but he wasn’t able to follow. His mind had thankfully turned off during their love-making, and he wished it could have stayed off longer. He could not have asked for a more satisfying encounter, but that’s what made the aftermath so painful. It had been a mutual, intentional, sex act between men.

There was no way to deny any longer that he was a criminal in the eyes of the law and living in sin in the eyes of his church. He could go to prison, and if not that, definitely to hell. The thought of his soul being in jeopardy horrified him, but for his heart and every other part of him, the idea of ending his relationship with Pendrick would mean hell on earth.

He wasn’t aware of shedding tears until Pendrick stirred and licked his throat.

“William?” The man sat up suddenly. He carefully pressed the back of his hand to Murdoch’s wet cheek. “My dear, what is it?”

Murdoch shook his head, rather embarrassed. “It’s nothing you’ve done.”

For long moments Pendrick stared at him, and Murdoch could practically hear the gears turning in his head. He’d never seen his partner so somber, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and toneless. “I’m so sorry. It seems it was I who didn’t understand what I was asking of you when I made my proposal.”

“It was my choice.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing…”

Pendrick winced. “I could go to church with you,” he offered uncertainly.

“I can’t attend church,” Murdoch told him, sounding rather lost even to himself. “I can’t go to confession, and if I didn’t, Father Bertram would notice. I’d rather he assume I’m busy with work.” He met Pendrick’s eyes and added, “I can’t go to confession because I don’t repent my sin.”

“…And I’m your sin.”

Murdoch responded to the misery in his tone. “Do you still find me easy?”

Pendrick gently kissed each of his eyes. “I said it would be easy to love you, not that you’d be an easy lover. It was a challenge I was willing to accept, but I had no right to do this to you.”

“We’re in this together,” Murdoch pointed out. He’d wondered how Pendrick managed to ignore that detail. “You’re breaking the same law I am, and while you don‘t follow my faith, its doctrine applies to all men.”

“My love,” Pendrick began, and sighed. “Let’s worry about one soul at a time. Mine has been tarnished for as long as I can remember. Yours has been pristine and is therefore more fragile.”

It wasn’t his claim to a shady past that got Murdoch’s attention, but his address. The tightness around his heart loosened slightly. “Did you have any doubts the first time you did it?”

“Not your sort, but yes. The act of ejaculation can apparently unplug long-pent up feelings and fears. I’ve even heard that some people never manage to have intercourse without tears.”

“That’s _not_ what I meant.”

Pendrick smiled a little at his pique. “I know. I can hardly say your name and the word intercourse in the same sentence.”

“Men can’t have intercourse,” Murdoch stated, then recalled his visit to Dr. Coombs. He was glad to have another subject to distract him. “Can they?”

The other gazed at him for a moment, then nodded. “They can. They do.”

“Did you and Anthony?”

“Yes and no. We tried it, because we were young and stupid and willing to try anything. Anthony liked it but I didn’t, so it wasn’t something we did often.”

“Because it was painful?”

“No. And before you get us completely off topic, remember that most people first engage in sex at a much younger age than you, when doubts and fears can be sublimated into overactive libidos. You, I’m afraid, have kept yours bottled up far too long.”

He’d made his point: that Murdoch’s emotional reaction could be a result of long overdue physical release. Murdoch knew his guilt was more than that, but he vowed then and there not to let it ruin his future with this man.

The next time they made love in the morning was not nearly as traumatic, and subsequent mornings became positively pleasurable. He just had to avoid over-thinking.

The following Sunday when they were in the library, Murdoch came to a disconcerting realization. He’d started purchasing books to add to Pendrick’s collection, figuring that he ought to be contributing something to the household. The latest acquisition was a treatise by a psychiatrist named Freud who claimed to know something about dream symbolism. While leafing through it Murdoch recalled a recent dream in which Pendrick had morphed into Julia and driven off in a miniature carriage. Murdoch had inexplicably been left lying naked by the empty pool.

“James,” he said, abruptly understanding what his subconscious had been telling him.

Pendrick was at his toy, attaching a spring that would launch the marble into a semi-enclosed chute that arced over the top of the entire contraption and down the other side. He looked up when Murdoch came over. “William?”

“You know that I love you, don’t you?” Murdoch said. It had sounded far more romantic in his head, but he forged on. “I didn’t say it often enough to Liza. I never said it to Julia. I don’t want to make that mistake again. I love you.”

Pendrick carefully set down his soldering device. Words seemed to fail him for a moment, but Murdoch could clearly see the happiness in his eyes. “My dear, I don’t think you have any idea what it means for me to hear that,” he said a bit roughly. He embraced Murdoch with great tenderness. “I’ve long thought that Sally was the love of my life. I worked hard to win her, and in the end paid a high price for such blind passion. When I found you, I was thankful to have a companion who shares my interests and whom I knew would never deliberately betray me. I wasn’t sure there would be anything else.” Pressing his cheek against Murdoch’s he added, “I was wrong about Sally in every way.”

Murdoch initiated their kiss, moved that he could affect the other man so. He was used now to the roughness of a male face. “I can’t imagine life without you now.”

“Nor I you.”

That night was the first time they made love without the benefit of morning erections. Murdoch let Pendrick arouse him by hand and did the same, breathless just to be allowed to touch this man and to be touched so lovingly in return. After climaxing, they fell asleep still wrapped around each other, completely naked.

*****

It was the following week that their quiet evening was disrupted by a sudden pounding on the front door, and Murdoch knew at once that it wasn’t his usual summons. They’d just been covering up the contraption, which was now a two-man job, before retiring. Pendrick, as startled as Murdoch, held up his hand for him to stay there, and went into the foyer himself. Murdoch reached the doorway in time to see a lone figure on the threshold that swayed and then collapsed at Pendrick’s feet.

“Anthony?” Pendrick exclaimed. He knelt down to try to drag him into the house, then turned to Murdoch for assistance, but Murdoch was distracted by the blood on the stranger’s coat and now on Pendrick’s hands. He automatically helped move Anthony from the foyer floor to a divan in the ballroom, his detective’s instincts on high alert. “We have to take him to the hospital and contact the constabulary,” he said. A quick examination of their guest revealed that he was alive and that the blood was coming from a sodden bandage on his left hand. Pendrick unwound it cautiously, and they both grimaced to see that Anthony was missing two of his fingers. It appeared to be a very recent loss.

“No police…” Anthony whispered, clutching his injury to his chest. His face was distorted with pain, but Murdoch could make out the features Pendrick had once described. “No hospital.”

“What happened?” Pendrick demanded, sitting on the edge of the seat so that he could make eye contact with their patient. “Who did this?”

Anthony opened his mouth to reply, but saw Murdoch standing nearby and shut it again.

“I’ll get fresh bandages,” Murdoch offered.

He hurried upstairs to where Pendrick kept his medical supplies, such as they were, then returned quietly, making sure Anthony didn’t notice him. From just inside the doorway he was able to hear everything the others were saying. “I don’t have it, Jamie,” Anthony swore, his good hand now clasping Pendrick’s urgently. “It’s all gone, and they said they’d be back.”

“Where did you last see them?”

“Just outside Toronto. I was on my way here when they caught up with me.”

“Why were you coming here?”

Now Anthony hesitated. “To ask for your help. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“How could I help you?” Pendrick glanced up, apparently just realizing that Murdoch was back in the room. “We need to re-dress your wound. Will you take a pain pill?” Anthony nodded; he looked exhausted both from pain and from the effort of traveling some distance.

Murdoch fetched a glass of water while Pendrick cleaned and re-bandaged Anthony’s hand. It continued to bleed, but there was nothing they could do about that as long as he refused to go to the hospital. Once Pendrick was finished, Anthony accepted the pill and curled up on the divan, his eyes closing.

“Rest,” Pendrick told him. “We’ll talk more in the morning.” He met Murdoch’s insistent gaze. “Yes, I know. You and I will talk more now.”

Upstairs they undressed and lay down together, utterly used to the routine. Pendrick rested his head on Murdoch’s shoulder in his favored position before repeating Anthony’s story.

“He’s in debt to a man in Montreal,” he said. “Gambling. Seems he’s been on a losing streak for the better part of a year. His wife has left him, and he’s been fired for suspicion of embezzlement. He says he didn’t do it.” He let that claim speak for itself. “The man, some lowlife named Mickey Souris, thinks he has the embezzled money and expects to be paid what he’s owed. When he learned that Anthony was leaving Montreal, he sent his thugs after him. They chopped off his fingers as a warning that he not try to cheat them, and they’ve threatened to continue chopping until he pays in full.”

Murdoch frowned, hearing it from a detective’s perspective. “Was he charged with embezzlement?”

“No, we’re not harboring a fugitive. Not in that sense.”

“Can he identify the men who attacked him?”

“I have no idea. It sounded as if he knew them on sight, but he didn’t say that in so many words.”

“Do you know where the attack occurred?”

“No. I’ll get more details from him tomorrow. Should I tell him you’re with the constabulary?” Pendrick waited, but Murdoch was undecided; if Anthony wasn’t interested in seeking help from the police, it might be better he not know. “Let me talk to him first then. If he says anything that will allow you to take action, I’ll contact you.”

“Why do you think he was coming to you?” Murdoch asked.

“I’m not sure. If he doesn’t know I’ve lost my fortune, he’s the only one in the country who doesn’t.”

That didn’t seem likely since Anthony had worked at a brokerage. Murdoch could have stayed up all night puzzling over it, but knew he would have no real answers till morning. He kissed Pendrick’s temple and dosed off.

Next day before leaving the house Murdoch looked in on Anthony, who appeared to be sleeping deeply. He considered doing some preliminary investigative work on his story, but when he arrived at the station, Murdoch found himself called upon to take testimony from several dozen witnesses to what turned out to be a staged murder. He was quite exasperated by the time he went home. Pendrick hadn’t contacted him regarding Anthony’s attack, and he didn’t know what to expect when he walked through the door.

It certainly wasn’t what he got. Pendrick greeted him with a hot dinner and no guest.

“Anthony’s gone,” he declared as they sat down to dine. “It turns out he did come for money. When I told him I had none, he was upset but he must already have had another plan. I had to leave for an appointment, and when I got back, he was gone, along with several of my pairs of gold cufflinks and a watch.” He looked rueful. “I don’t know if he stole anything from your room. If he did, I’ll replace it.”

Murdoch wasn’t worried. “I don’t own anything valuable. But it doesn’t sound like nearly enough to keep Souris’ men off his back.” Pendrick shrugged. “What about his hand? Did he say he would see a surgeon?”

“Let’s not worry about Anthony Sanders anymore,” Pendrick said. “He was no longer the friend I knew at university.” He sounded rather cold, and Murdoch raised his eyebrows. “I truly hope to never see or hear from him again. Lemonade?”

Murdoch resolved to keep an eye out for news of Souris and his thugs, but otherwise agreed with Pendrick’s assessment of the situation. The last person he wanted staying with them was his partner’s ex-lover.

They had just begun to get personal next morning when there came a banging at the front door. By now Murdoch could recognize Crabtree’s touch, and he much preferred Pendrick’s. He groaned as Pendrick drew away with a soft curse.

“Your constable is treading on thin ice.”

“I’m needed -” Murdoch began.

“Yes, you are, right here.”

Murdoch pulled on a dressing gown before opening the window. To his surprise, Crabtree was not alone; Inspector Brackenreid accompanied him along with another constable. “Sir, what’s happened?”

Brackenreid looked up irritably, evidently not having been informed that Murdoch’s response might come from above. “Get yourself down here, Murdoch. And bring His Nibs with you.”

“Do you mean Mr. Pendrick?” It was all Murdoch could do not to glance behind him, where Pendrick now rose from the bed. “May I ask why?”

“All in good time.”

Murdoch closed the window and faced Pendrick in confusion, which only grew upon seeing the other man’s pallor. “James?”

Pendrick pulled him away from the window in order to hold him tightly for several minutes. He was almost vibrating with tension. “I’m sorry. If it’s what I suspect, I’m so sorry.”

A second later he left Murdoch to dress while he did the same in his own room. Murdoch tried to get downstairs ahead of him, but when he arrived in the foyer in shirtsleeves, Pendrick was already fully clothed and talking to the inspector. To Murdoch’s bewilderment, Pendrick looked less worried than he had upstairs, even oddly reassured.

“As I just informed this _gentleman_ ,” Brackenreid said, making Pendrick sound like anything but, “a body has been found on his grounds. A man in his late thirties, shot at close range. Does that description mean anything to either of you?”

Murdoch met Pendrick’s eyes and caught his quick nod. “Was he missing two of his fingers?”

“Now how in the bloody hell would you know that?”

“His name is Anthony Sanders and he’s from Montreal.”

As Crabtree took notes, Murdoch told them all he knew of Anthony’s recent visit. He repeated Anthony’s story of his attack, sorry now that he’d never gotten more details. It didn’t escape his notice that Pendrick didn’t contribute anything to the narrative until Murdoch had to admit that he hadn’t witnessed Anthony’s departure. Then Pendrick repeated what he’d told Murdoch the previous day, without embellishment. Murdoch began to have a very bad feeling.

“May we see the crime scene, Sir?” he asked.

“You may, Murdoch. You know no civilians are allowed until the coroner has been.”

“It’s my property,” Pendrick pointed out mildly. “Just where did the crime occur?”

Crabtree finally jumped in. “Out back, Sir, between the stream and that hedgerow that borders your land. A fellow who claims to be your gardener was out there shortly after sunup and saw the body. He said you asked him to come by this morning to do some extra work, something about a pool.”

Brackenreid squelched his gregarious constable with a glance. “That’ll do, Crabtree. All right, you can see the crime scene, but you touch nothing and vacate when I say.”

“Of course.”

They left the house via the back door, which Murdoch hadn’t passed through since he’d called upon Sally months previously. The back lawns at that time had been tamed, trimmed and landscaped, a setting suitable for the lady Sally pretended to be. Now the grounds were nothing like he remembered them, and even Brackenreid did a double take upon seeing their condition. The cement balustrades and huge planters were peeling and empty. Even the ivy that had once covered the entire back of the house looked sickly. Brackenreid’s scowl grew as they traipsed single-file along a rough path through what was now a field rather than a lawn.

It wasn’t until they’d reached the narrow stream Crabtree had mentioned that Murdoch spotted several more constables working near the hedge that surrounded three sides of Pendrick’s estate. He crossed himself at the sight of Anthony’s body lying face down in the weeds. Other constables were cordoning off the site, while still others were searching the underbrush in every direction.

“Sir!” Constable Higgins called as they approached. “I’ve got something!” He beckoned them over to the hedge, which was thick, scraggly and well over six feet high in that area, and pointed at its base.

“Very interesting,” Brackenreid said. He moved aside so that Murdoch could see a small gold object in the overgrown grass. Murdoch’s stomach sank. “Mr. Pendrick, do you recognize this cuff link?”

“It’s one of mine,” Pendrick said. “We told you it was stolen.”

“And this ring?”

Murdoch craned to see the ring in question and nearly gasped aloud. He’d completely forgotten the engagement ring he’d purchased for Julia the day she left Toronto. Anthony must have searched his room too, to have stolen it. He exchanged another quick look with Pendrick.

“That’s mine,” he said, cleared his throat, then tried again. “I didn’t realize it was missing.”

“Yours?” Brackenreid gave him a doubtful look, but before he could follow that line of inquiry, another shout came from a constable squatting near the stream. They hurried over there.

“A gun, Sir,” the officer said, pointing to a handgun half hidden in the mud. “A nice one.”

“It looks like one of those new Browning revolvers,” Crabtree remarked, and for an instant Murdoch thought he’d worried for nothing. For as long as he’d known him, Pendrick had used a smaller gun, one he could conceal on his person. He started to exhale in relief, only to be contradicted.

“It’s mine,” Pendrick said flatly. “I kept it in my desk in the library. I had no idea Anthony had gone through any of the downstairs rooms.”

“Hmm.” Brackenreid left them there to call together his men. While he gave instructions, Murdoch inched closer to Pendrick.

“What haven’t you told me?” he demanded under his breath.

“Too many things, but this isn’t the place,” Pendrick hissed. “And we have more immediate concerns.”

“Such as?”

“Our bedroom.”

Murdoch was blank for just long enough to hear Brackenreid assigning some constables to search the house. That was the closest he’d ever come to using profanity, because once they went upstairs there would be no doubt that two people had slept in one bed.

Crabtree led the group of five. “Detective Murdoch, could you come with us?” he called.

“Go,” Pendrick urged. “I can deal with your inspector.”

Wondering if he looked as ill as he felt, Murdoch fell into step with them. He was aware of Crabtree rattling on beside him, but didn’t really listen till they’d reached the back door. It was only then that he realized that Crabtree had already designated which rooms were to be searched by which men. The upstairs came last on his agenda.

“You wanted to get your notebook, didn’t you, Sir?” Crabtree asked as the others obediently scattered about the house.

“I… yes, I did, George. Thank you for reminding me.” Murdoch dashed up the stairs and into his room on shaking legs, blessing whatever whim had made Crabtree take charge. He set up both bedrooms to appear as if they’d had recent occupants, then paused to regain his composure before heading back downstairs, notebook in hand.

Crabtree was waiting for him by the front door. “Might we step outside for a moment, Sir?”

“Of course. What is it?”

He followed the constable a short distance before Crabtree stopped, glanced around to make sure there was no one within earshot, and faced him. “Detective Murdoch, I have to confess something.”

“To me?”

“Inspector Brackenreid is going to have the lads search the front grounds as well as the back. And they’re going to find something that I need to explain.” Crabtree’s color was fluctuating curiously. “They’re going to find shoe marks and bicycle tire tracks in the bushes, and I’m going to have to tell them that they have nothing to do with the case.”

Murdoch thought he saw the younger man’s dilemma. “I know you tried to see into the library that day you came by -”

“ _A lot_ of shoe marks and tire tracks.”

“What do you mean?”

Crabtree could no longer meet his gaze. “That day I heard the music, I looked in the window of that room, the ballroom. I saw you and Mr. Pendrick dancing. Cardio-something exercise you called it, and I thought no more of it. Other times I saw you both in the library reading or playing pool or tinkering with that pile of metal in the corner. But then another time I saw you dancing very slowly, and kissing, and there was no way that was anything but what it seemed. After that, I made sure I was the only constable sent for you.”

Murdoch felt all the blood leave his brain as Crabtree spoke. He fancied he now knew what a woman experienced just before she fainted. “George…”

“Detective Murdoch, I admire you and respect you more than any other man on the force, and spying on you is the last thing I meant to do. At first I’d hope to see you dancing like that again, because I’ve got to say, it was pretty spectacular. Then later I wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting anything, which I suspect I did more than once.” Crabtree paused, but Murdoch had a single thought and he couldn’t say it aloud. “Anyway, I had to let you know, because I can’t have the men wasting time on what they think are clues, but aren’t. I’ll tell the inspector that it was me at the windows.”

“Then what?” Murdoch knew he was almost inaudible, but shame prevented him from raising his voice. “Will you give me… us… a chance to get our affairs in order?”

Crabtree looked aghast. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Sir, I will _never_ tell anyone what I’ve seen. You have my word on that!” He read Murdoch’s bewilderment. “What you do in your personal life is your business. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re the best detective this city has, and it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve learned more from you than everyone else on the force combined. I may not understand what’s going on between you and Mr. Pendrick, but it’s not my place to interfere.”

Murdoch was as drained as if he’d run ten miles. “Thank you, George. More than I can say.”

“I’m sorry I gave you a scare, Sir.”

“…I guess I’m not cut out for deception,” Murdoch admitted.

Crabtree nodded and went back inside to oversee the other constables. Once his heart-rate had returned to normal, Murdoch went back inside to shave and finish dressing.

The morning passed in fits and starts. Involved in the murder while not actually assigned to it, Murdoch wandered the house and grounds restlessly. He came upon the inspector in the kitchen interviewing Mary, Fiona and the gardener, respectively. Later he found Brackenreid with Pendrick in the dining room by following the sound of raised voices. Brackenreid shut the door upon Murdoch’s approach.

Several constables entered the room while Murdoch waited, but it was nearly noon before they came out. To Murdoch’s dismay, Pendrick was being taken along in hand cuffs. “His gun has been identified as the murder weapon,” Brackenreid stated. “The maid overheard them arguing yesterday morning. He has no alibi for the time of death -”

“Which was when?” Murdoch asked.

“Last night around two o’clock.”

Murdoch glanced at Pendrick, who was tight-lipped with fury but shook his head once.

“This is false arrest, Inspector,” Pendrick said to the others. “ _Again_. I want to speak to my attorney.”

“As soon as we get to the station, my lad,” Brackenreid told him.

“What’s his motive?” Murdoch demanded.

“Blackmail.”

“ _Blackmail?_ ”

“Yes, quite a juicy little case we’ve got developing.”

Murdoch tried to read Pendrick’s expression, but mostly it was stubborn outrage. “I’ll come with you.”

“You can come to the station, Detective, but this isn’t your case.”

“You’re arresting the wrong man!”

Brackenreid chuckled without humor. “There’s a switch, you _not_ wanting to arrest James Pendrick. How times do change.”

With that, he and his constables escorted Pendrick from the house. Only Crabtree lingered behind with Murdoch in the empty foyer.

“You’re his alibi, aren’t you?” Crabtree said quietly. Murdoch nodded. “Then this is more your case than any other. You have to solve it.”

Murdoch looked at him, realizing that it didn’t matter whether he was allowed access to the details of Pendrick’s case. It was Anthony’s attack that would lead to his killer, and Murdoch had not been banned from following that lead. As Brackenreid always said, one had to follow the money.

At the station, Murdoch made a list, then called Crabtree and Higgins into his office.

“Mr. Sanders’ assault occurred the evening before last, between eight and eleven o’clock,” he told them, surmising that it had to have taken place after dark and shortly before Anthony had appeared on their doorstep. “He said it happened outside Toronto, and since we believe he was coming from Montreal, that means the north side. Constable Higgins, I need you to contact the stations in those areas and find out if anyone reported an altercation. Perhaps there was evidence left at the scene of the attack, and the police are already making inquiries.”

“Good idea, Sir,” Higgins said. “Mr. Sanders’ fingers have to be somewhere.”

“Constable Crabtree, I need you to do two things: send a telegram to the Montreal constabulary, and then track down newspapers published in that city over the past month. Once I get a reply from Montreal, I’ll decide our next course of action.”

He composed a quick missive to a colleague he knew there: ‘Need all information on Mr. Anthony Sanders and Mr. Mickey Souris. Urgent. Letter to follow.’

While Higgins and Crabtree set off on their tasks, Murdoch wrote out a longer explanation of the matter he was investigating. Although he’d only worked with Detective Barbeau a few times, he knew any request for help from him would be given priority. He included as much detail as he had regarding Souris, hoping the Montreal constabulary would already have the man in their records. It seemed highly likely. He also asked for information on Anthony’s previous employer, the alleged embezzlement, and the whereabouts of his estranged wife.

Once he’d posted the letter, Murdoch couldn’t wait any longer. Pendrick had been taken to the interview room, and while he wouldn’t be welcome inside, there was nothing to stop him from listening at the window. There was a screen, but it blocked neither sight nor sound.

Inspector Brackenreid was still in the room, trying to get Pendrick to change his story. Pendrick sat stiffly across from him at the table. His replies were now given in monosyllables, and Murdoch could see he’d reached boiling point.

He scribbled in his notebook ‘Why would Pendrick leave the gun by the stream when he could have returned it to the house?’, then handed the page to a passing constable and pointed at the door. The officer took the note into the interview room and gave it to Brackenreid, who read it and set it aside without breaking stride.

Murdoch wrote a second note, ‘Why would the stolen jewelry be beside the hedge?’ and sent the constable back in with it. Again Brackenreid read it and set it aside, this time crumpling it for good measure. His color was starting to rise.

Murdoch wrote, “Where was Sanders after he left the house until two o’clock in the morning?’

The constable had tried to make his escape, but Murdoch barred his way, so the man had no choice but to deliver this note as well. Brackenreid read it, crushed it, then turned to the window and roared, “I know how to conduct an interrogation, Murdoch!”

“I know you do, Sir, but -”

“Don’t you have a case to work on?” “Yes.” Murdoch met Pendrick’s gaze, glad to see that his partner was attempting to control his temper. “I’m investigating an assault committed outside the city a couple of days ago.”

“Well, get on with it!” Brackenreid paused as if he’d just put two and two together, then bellowed, “Out!”

Murdoch left reluctantly, confident at least that Pendrick had understood he was on the case.

Detective Barbeau’s reply came soon after. He did indeed know of Mickey Souris’ activities, but Anthony Sanders’ name was new to the Montreal constabulary. He promised to start compiling information and await Murdoch’s letter for clarification.

Pendrick’s attorney arrived within the hour, all bluster and self-importance. Murdoch recalled his manner well from their previous encounters, but this time he was glad to see how briskly the man arranged Pendrick’s release. Murdoch had no chance to talk to the latter; he resigned himself to waiting till he got home.

Crabtree came through with a pile of newspapers published by the Montreal Star, so Murdoch spent the rest of the afternoon reading through them. His primary aim was to get a feel for the city so that he could better judge Anthony’s and Souris’ actions. There was no mention of embezzlement at a brokerage, but he found several references to the Montreal constabulary’s efforts to put a halt to illegal gambling. Souris’ name appeared more than once.

At the end of the day, Murdoch ventured by Brackenreid’s office, hoping his superior’s earlier annoyance had faded. He was accustomed to the inspector’s tendency to bark, but when it came down to police work, he usually regained a level head in time to listen to Murdoch’s point of view.

“All right,” Brackenreid said as soon as Murdoch peeked in. “Let’s get this over with.”

Murdoch sat down across from him. Brackenreid was already sipping from a glass of scotch, a good sign. His face was no longer the same red shade as his hair. “Sir, you don’t really believe Mr. Pendrick killed Anthony Sanders, do you?”

“I don’t know what I believe. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

“Can you tell me what evidence you have against him?”

“Oh, you’re going to love this, Murdoch. The maid overheard Sanders threatening to blackmail Pendrick. According to her, your boyfriend looked angry enough to kill.”

Murdoch blinked at his choice of words, but the inspector evidently meant nothing by them. “Did she confirm that Sanders was alive when Mr. Pendrick left for his appointment?”

“Alive enough to ransack the house, yes. We only have Pendrick’s word that Sanders wasn’t still there when he got home. The servants were gone by then.” Brackenreid sat up straighter, which told Murdoch his superior had decided to include him in the investigation. “That’s another thing. Pendrick claims he went to meet with his solicitor about initiating divorce proceedings against his wife. Why do that now? The woman’s been in the wind for over a year. She’d be arrested the minute she showed her face in Toronto.”

“I’m not sure,” Murdoch admitted.

“He was at his solicitor’s office for nearly three hours. Now as far as I know, uncontested divorce proceedings don’t take that long. What else was he doing there? He refused to say, and his solicitor invoked client confidentiality.”

Murdoch had no idea what to make of that, but it had to wait. “I don’t see how time spent with his solicitor could have any bearing on the case, Sir. Have we any evidence to indicate that Sanders _wasn’t_ gone when Mr. Pendrick got home?”

“None except the question of where he went and why he was back on the property in the wee hours. My theory is that Pendrick hid him in the house when you got there, promising to pay him off and send him on his way after nightfall. Once you were snoring, Pendrick took him out to the back forty and disposed of the problem. Why he left his gun there, I haven’t figured out yet. It could have been overlooked in the darkness, along with the jewelry we found -”

“It appears as if the jewelry were dropped while the real killer was fleeing the scene. The hedge is the nearest way off the estate.”

“Or Pendrick could have planted it there to make it appear that someone had climbed over the hedge.”

“Then why not plant the gun there as well?”

Brackenreid exhaled heavily. “If I knew all the answers, Murdoch, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Have you distributed a description of the missing jewelry to pawnshops and dealers?”

“What do you think?”

“Has the gun been tested for finger marks?”

“It was wiped clean.”

“No shoe marks in the area?”

“You mean other than Crabtree’s?” The inspector snorted, apparently taking a dim view of his constable’s confession. “Many. The gardener’s, the victim’s, ours. Thanks to Pendrick’s sloppy caretaking, the ground back there is so thick with brush and leaves, a whole army could have been camped there and we wouldn’t know it. You saw that poor excuse for a path from the house. By the time we got there, it had been trampled by a dozen feet.”

Murdoch suspected he could still have found some clues, but it was too late now. “What is your next move, Sir?”

“Well, the search of the house didn’t turn up any sign of Sanders, other than a hamper with bloody bandages and bloody clothes -”

“Mr. Pendrick explained those.”

“- and his finger marks on practically every surface in the place. The fellow did indeed ransack every room. I suppose you and Pendrick were fortunate he only took items he could hide in his clothing. In Pendrick’s clothing, I should say, since Sanders stole the suit he was wearing too. Speaking of which,” Brackenreid’s eyebrows rose, “when are you going to explain that ring?”

Murdoch flushed a little. “It was a mistake… I never thought to get rid of it.”

“A mistake, hmm? The chaps have been speculating that you’ve found yourself a new lady-friend. Perhaps someone Pendrick introduced you to?”

“No, Sir.”

“Oh. Well, the ring is being held as evidence, but you’ll have it back once we’ve sorted all this out.”

“Thank you.” Murdoch stood up to go.

Brackenreid frowned. “Need I remind you, it’s most irregular for a police detective to reside with a suspect. Can I persuade you to find other accommodations for tonight?” He read Murdoch’s face accurately. “Then can I count on you to share any information Pendrick might let slip?”

“You can count on me to tell you anything he says that I consider relevant to the case.” Murdoch held his stare until the inspector gave up.

“All right. I only have one more question.” Brackenreid looked quizzical. “What on earth is that thing in the library?”

Murdoch made it home in record time, half expecting the tires of his bicycle to be smoking when he left it at the door. Inside he found Pendrick in the ballroom, reclining on a loveseat with an empty wineglass balanced on his chest and listening to Waves of the Danube with closed eyes. He stood up when Murdoch burst in.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” he said simply.

“Where else would I go?”

Pendrick sat down again, letting his weariness show. “This has been a hell of a day.”

“Has Mary left us dinner?”

“I have no idea.”

Murdoch wanted to touch him, but he couldn’t forget his earlier scare. While Pendrick watched with growing alarm, Murdoch went around the room fastening curtains. Only a few had been parted, and those only a few inches, but the consequences had been enough to frighten years off his life.

“Shall I ask?” Pendrick inquired when Murdoch came to sit beside him. Murdoch sighed, settling with his arm around his lover before telling him what Crabtree had revealed. Pendrick swore under his breath more than once. Afterwards he didn’t speak for several long minutes, and when he did, his voice was duller than Murdoch wanted to hear. “I suppose it was ingenuous of us to think we were safe here from the world’s ignorance. We’ll have to be more careful.”

“All I could think was ‘please, not so soon!’,” Murdoch whispered.

“Not ever,” Pendrick replied firmly. He kissed Murdoch’s temple, his energy evidently starting to restore itself. “I take back everything I’ve said about your constable.”

“He’s turned out to be a true friend.”

“Unlike some other people. We need to talk about Anthony.”

They found a duck in the oven and ate most of it before getting down to business, both men having missed lunch. Pendrick forewent more wine, which told Murdoch that circumstances were indeed as serious as they appeared.

“First of all,” Pendrick began. “Anthony had become an accomplished little shit.” He noted Murdoch’s surprise, but didn’t apologize for the term. “I never mentioned it, but I ran into him in Montreal a few months ago. Over a drink, I told him about my new ventures. I never expected to see him again, and I certainly didn’t think he’d assume I was once again wealthy. It was only this morning that it occurred to me that he was asking too many questions about my financial position.

“I found out yesterday after you left for the station that he searched the house that night while we slept. He saw us in bed together, and he found some papers in my desk that identified you as a police detective. After you’d gone, he asked me for money. When I told him I didn’t have the amount he needed, he threatened blackmail.” He nodded at Murdoch’s shock. “Yes, he threatened to expose _you_.”

Murdoch suddenly wished he hadn’t dined so well. “So you _were_ angry enough to kill him, as Fiona claimed.”

“More than angry enough, but as may have come to your attention before, my love, I am _not_ a murderer.”

“What did you do?”

“I gave him all the money I had on hand, a few hundred dollars, and told him to be off the premises by the time I got back from my appointment. I frankly didn’t care if he stole everything not nailed down; I just wanted him out of our lives.”

“He could have come back for more,” Murdoch pointed out, then his detective brain spoke up. “Wait, there was no money found on his body.”

“No, I assume the killers took it as well as the jewelry, at least the pieces they managed not to lose.”

“It was hardly enough money to pay off Anthony’s debts. Why kill him?”

“Perhaps they knew him really well,” Pendrick said rather snidely. “Next morning when the police showed up, my first thought was that Anthony had gone to them after all and we were about to be arrested for indecent behavior.” He met Murdoch’s eyes, his own harder than Murdoch had seen them in months. “If that had happened, I was going to try to convince them that Anthony was lying about you in order to extort money from me, since he saw that you and I are friends. Need I add, his death came as a complete surprise.”

Murdoch considered these new facts. He couldn’t dwell on how close they’d come to ruin; there was still that possibility if he didn’t solve Anthony’s murder.

He briefly told Pendrick of his investigation into Anthony’s past and the murky career of Mickey Souris, and that he anticipated receiving Detective Barbeau’s records as soon as the next day. “We would know more if there was some indication where Anthony went after he left here, and why he came back.”

“I think it’s a safe bet that he didn’t leave,” Pendrick revealed. He waved one hand to indicate the building around them. “This is a large house, and I only looked for him in the rooms that we’ve been using because the rest are supposed to be locked. Knowing now what a little sneak he was, I suspect he hid here till after dark, then tried to leave by crossing the back grounds. How he was found by his killers, I can’t begin to guess.”

The idea of Anthony skulking in the house without their knowledge made Murdoch’s skin crawl. “The men didn’t find any evidence of a hiding place.”

Pendrick contemplated that for a moment, lips tight. “Perhaps they didn’t recognize it for what it was. Did they ask the servants which rooms were meant to be habitable?” He brightened a little. “This could be a good thing. It means if we find a room that appears to have been occupied, Fiona will have to confirm that it should have been vacant.”

“And since the constables already searched, they’ll be able to confirm the state of the room this morning, before you or I had a chance to touch it.”

“We can’t prove that I didn’t know about it, of course, but it might cast some doubt on my guilt.”

It took them nearly an hour to look into and rule out most of the rooms in the enormous house. In all his time there, Murdoch had explored very little, unused to living in a home that boasted eight bedrooms, four parlors, and a wine cellar larger than his police station. As they moved from door to door, Pendrick scowled and remarked that Anthony must have not only searched every room, he’d left open every lock he’d picked. That would be another point in their favor, since the constables could verify that they hadn’t needed any keys that morning.

They finally found his hideaway on the second floor, a bedroom over the kitchen. Unlike the other rooms along the back of the house, it appeared dusted and ready for use. Murdoch didn’t wonder why the constables hadn’t remarked on it. Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see another room prepared for company; he would have assumed that the wealthy were in the habit of being ready for unexpected guests. The fact that Anthony had chosen a room at the back of the house made him wonder whether the man had been keeping watch on the grounds, and whether his killers had been keeping watch on him.

It wasn’t until they’d retired that Murdoch remembered Brackenreid’s other line of inquiry.

“You’re divorcing Sally,” he stated. Pendrick nodded, his hair soft against Murdoch’s shoulder. He’d succeeded in leaving his anger at Anthony out of the bedroom. “May I ask why?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for some time,” Pendrick said readily. “My empire is getting back on its feet, and the last thing I want is for her to show up and try to claim half of it.”

“She’s a wanted fugitive.”

“She’s also a very persuasive woman.”

Murdoch mulled that over. “The inspector seemed to think you had other business besides initiating the divorce. Your solicitor wouldn’t talk to him.”

“The inspector seems to think that I went to my solicitor for the cash to pay Anthony’s blackmail. If he bothers to check my accounts, he’ll see that not only have no funds been withdrawn, there are no funds _to_ withdraw. All my money is tied up in my patents and prototypes.”

Murdoch was on the verge of asking why his appointment had lasted so long, but since it had no possible bearing on the crime, it wasn’t his business any more than it was the inspector’s. He fell asleep reflecting on a world in which he could lie naked beside a man he adored, yet wasn’t comfortable asking him about his finances.

The next day was busy from beginning to end. Murdoch asked Brackenreid to send some men back to the house to search the guest room again for evidence of Anthony’s extended presence, and they returned with hair and thread samples that proved to match the body and the suit it was wearing. Mary and Fiona confirmed that the room was supposed to be closed up. The inspector had checked with Pendrick’s bankers, who verified his lack of liquidity. That last fact more than any other assured that by lunchtime, Pendrick was no longer a prime suspect.

Meanwhile, Detective Barbeau had sent a thick file of information that had Murdoch engrossed for most of the morning. He was able to draw two conclusions from the documents there, one being that Anthony had in fact embezzled over five thousand dollars from his brokerage firm. By reading between the lines, it was clear that the only reason he hadn’t been arrested was out of deference to his wife’s good name. She’d left him immediately after his dismissal to travel with a cousin on the continent.

The other conclusion was that, since the theft had taken place longer ago than Anthony had intimated, he’d had ample time to pay back his debt to Mickey Souris, or Mickey the Rat as he was known in Montreal. The fact that Anthony had not paid it back told Murdoch that he’d continued to gamble, losing the additional money as well as running up an even larger debt. That fit with what he’d overheard Anthony tell Pendrick the evening he turned up.

According to Barbeau’s records, Souris had many men working for him, two of whom hadn’t been seen in Montreal for several days. He’d included photos of the two thugs, which Murdoch immediately had copied and sent around to other stations in Toronto. By late afternoon a report had come in that they’d been sighted in the vicinity of the Pendrick estate the day of Anthony’s death. The clincher came when a pawn broker identified Pendrick’s watch as having been brought in by one of the two men. It was just a matter of time till they were picked up, whether in Toronto, Montreal or somewhere in between. Proving they were the ones who’d assaulted and murdered Anthony might not be as easy, but it was a start.

That evening at dinner Pendrick raised a toast to Murdoch with lemonade. “Have I told you how glad I am that it has always been you handling my murder cases?” he asked with a thin smile.

“Even the one for which you were convicted?” Murdoch said, welcoming the lighter mood.

“Especially that one, because if it had been anyone else, I’d have been hanged long ago.”

“It’s not over. You’ll have to testify, should these men go to trial.”

“As will you.”

“Inspector Brackenreid never said what grounds you gave for Anthony’s blackmail attempt,” Murdoch remarked. He hadn’t been about to ask for fear of opening a potential can of worms.

“I didn’t. One of the many reasons I infuriated him.”

Pendrick was evidently not going to allow his spirits to be brought down. He stood up from the table and, clasping Murdoch’s hands in his, hummed as he danced him across the foyer and into the ballroom. Murdoch felt a bit clumsier than usual without real music, but once Pendrick had turned on the Victrola, they slipped smoothly into a slow waltz. Murdoch couldn’t stop smiling.

*****

Souris’ thugs returned to Montreal the next day only to be arrested and escorted back to Toronto for questioning at Station No. 4. They denied everything at first, alibiing each other for the time of Anthony’s attack as well as his murder. As the interrogation wore on, Murdoch began to suspect that they hadn’t been in each other’s company the entire time, and he had an inspiration: he borrowed two fingers from a fresh male cadaver and brought them to the interview room next day, setting them on a plate on the table. When he interviewed the suspects separately, their startled and distrustful looks confirmed that neither of them was sure whether these were the actual appendages or not. It only required two days of the men taking turns sitting there, watching the digits slowly decompose, for one of them to break his silence.

After admitting that they’d accosted Anthony upon his arrival in Toronto, the man described how Anthony had convinced them to let him go. He’d assured them that he had a source of money lined up, not only telling them where he would be, but where they should wait for him the following night. The thugs had actually been on the Pendrick estate that entire evening watching for Anthony’s signal. When he’d shown up by the stream without the amount he owed, they’d threatened him again, whereupon he’d produced a gun. The other thug had tried to take it from him, it had gone off, and they’d grabbed all the cash and jewelry they could find on his body before making their clumsy escape over the hedge.

The second man responded to his comrade’s betrayal by volunteering enough information to incriminate their boss.

“Good work, Murdoch,” Brackenreid said as Murdoch was sliding the two pungent fingers into an evidence bag. The prisoners had already been taken away to separate cells.

“Thank you, Sir. Detective Barbeau has all he needs to prosecute Mickey Souris for illegal gambling, extortion, and conspiracy to commit murder.”  

“I wish him luck.” The inspector’s moustache convulsed. “Now air out that room.”

From the outer area came a chorus of ‘Hear, hear!”

Back home Murdoch expected life would return to normal. He found Pendrick in the library putting the last piece of track into place on his contraption. When Murdoch walked up, Pendrick grinned and dropped the glass marble into its cup. As they watched it travel around and around its elaborate path only to reach the beginning and start its journey again, Murdoch leaned in to give his partner a kiss.

“What will you play with now that your toy is finished?” he asked.

Pendrick feigned surprise. “Who says it’s finished? I have all sorts of ideas for it.”

“Of course you do.”

“And for you. But for now, I need you to sign something.”

Puzzled, Murdoch followed him to his desk where a large open envelope awaited. Pendrick offered him the chair, and watched him carefully as Murdoch read the document inside. It was several minutes before he could form a question, and by then Pendrick was clearly puzzled by his response.

“Why?” Murdoch asked, setting down the will. It was dated the day Pendrick had visited his solicitor and named Murdoch as the sole beneficiary of his estate. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“I’ve told you why I’m divorcing Sally,” Pendrick reminded him. “It would not be beyond her to show up after I’m dead and demand a share of my possessions, especially if I’ve become successful again. I don’t want her to tie up my inventions in probate court. If you own them, I know they won’t be tossed out with the trash or allowed to fall to dust in a drawer somewhere.”

“…I hadn’t thought of that.”

“As for the rest, you might as well have it. I have no one else to leave the property to.” He smiled, but the uncertainty didn’t leave his eyes. “With any luck we’ll both live many more years here and by then no one will remember that it isn’t your house too.”

Murdoch looked back at the paper. “Is it usual for the recipient to sign a will?”

“That was my solicitor’s idea. He likes to consider the big picture, as he calls it. He’s seen other recipients, secret mistresses and the like who aren’t aware of their bequests, react inappropriately when a lover’s will is read. He firmly believes in fair warning. Saves embarrassment all around.”

“I see.” Murdoch imagined the man was right; if this had been sprung upon him while he was grieving for Pendrick, he too might have reacted in a way that would have revealed too much. “He knows then.”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No…”

“My dear William, what is?”

Murdoch shook his head, because he wasn’t really sure. He didn’t feel entitled to Pendrick’s possessions, although the idea of him fighting Sally for them in court was intriguing. He didn’t think of himself as a kept man, but he wasn’t comfortable being rewarded monetarily for loving someone when there was no legal basis for it.

He tried to articulate this as he handed the document back to Pendrick, adding, “I’ll do everything in my power to protect your patents, should the need ever arise. You have my word on that.”

Pendrick hid his disappointment, but Murdoch could tell he’d dealt his partner a blow. It wasn’t until they were in bed that Murdoch felt the other relax against him.

“I suppose I have your damned Jesuit Brotherhood to thank for your sense of right and wrong,” he muttered. Murdoch stiffened. “I beg your pardon, I meant to say your _good_ Jesuit Brotherhood. But they do have a lot to answer for.”

“It was they who made sure I received an excellent education.”

“And they who made sure you were afraid to touch or be touched by another human being.”

Murdoch wasn’t going to argue that. “Can you forgive me?”

“For being the most honorable man I’ve ever met? No, of course not.” Pendrick kissed Murdoch’s throat. “I suppose I’m lucky you didn’t become a monk. I’ll wager you considered it.”

“Yes, I did. Right after my sister took her vows.”

“Your sister is a nun? Are you joking?” Pendrick pushed himself up to see Murdoch’s face, then fell back to the mattress with a laugh, the most welcome sound Murdoch had heard all day. “Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?”

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” Murdoch said, deciding not to add that he hadn’t been in touch with his sister since she joined the cloistered convent.

“You don’t find it amusing that James Pendrick chose the most law-abiding, God-fearing man in the entire province to fall head over heels in love with?”

Murdoch didn’t, but the sight of the other chortling helplessly made him grin too. On impulse, he threw himself on top of Pendrick and kissed him until they were both sober and ready for far more amorous activities. It felt absolutely right to take charge.

For the next few days Murdoch worked on miscellaneous minor cases, and Pendrick resumed his experiments with steam locomotion. He was in contact with several men in other parts of Canada working on similar projects, and it had become a friendly rivalry to see who could first modify their innovations to function in a horseless carriage. Pendrick was losing the race and knew it, but as he told Murdoch, the challenge was to do it at all.

“Can you imagine a street full of steam powered carriages?” he asked, a blueprint spread open on his desk. He carefully erased and rewrote a small calculation. “They would be much faster than electric cars, or even those gasoline powered vehicles Ford is so obsessed with.” Murdoch didn’t respond, content to sit in his chair with an open book and watch the other. “I read about a company in Germany that’s testing flying carriages. Inflatables. That should be our next project, building an engine to drive a dirigible.”

“Have I mentioned that I love you?” Murdoch asked.

Pendrick’s lips curved. “Not today, no.”

“I do.”

For some reason that made Pendrick look up. He studied Murdoch for a minute, then rolled up his papers and set them aside. Murdoch accepted the hand he offered, and Pendrick led him up the stairs and into their room.

“It’s a bit early for bed,” Murdoch pointed out, but he began to undress since his partner was doing so. When Pendrick slipped briefly into the other chamber, Murdoch waited curiously. He couldn’t see what Pendrick brought back with him, something that fit in his palm.

“My dear,” Pendrick said then, “do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

He raised Murdoch’s hand to his lips, then sat them both down on the bed and spoke very seriously. “We talked once about an act that I said I didn’t enjoy… I see you remember.”

“Intercourse,” Murdoch said faintly.

“If you prefer to call it that. The reason I didn’t enjoy it was the person I was doing it with. Not because Anthony was a bad lover, but because he didn’t see how… special the act was. To him it was another way to have sex. To me it was something else.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Not the way you mean. There are precautions that must be taken, but it’s possible to perform the act with minimal pain.”

Most of Murdoch’s brain was sending up red flags, but he forced himself to sit still and listen. He could tell that whatever Pendrick was about to suggest, it was very important to him.

“I didn’t think I’d ever want to do it again,” the other went on, “but I’d like to experiment with you because I think you’ll agree with me.”

“You want me to enter you.”

“Yes, but I need you to do something even harder first.”

“Harder?”

Pendrick kissed him gently and stayed close enough to whisper. “Being inside another person is the most intimate act possible. To understand what it is to be on the giving end, one needs to understand what it is to receive.” He rubbed Murdoch’s back when Murdoch swallowed audibly. “I want you inside me, my love. But your innocence is a problem. If you’d ever made love to a woman, you might know what I’m talking about, but you don’t even have that.”

“You’re afraid I’ll… damage you.”

“It’s possible and all too easy for a beginner, but that’s not why.” Pendrick traced his cheek with the side of his finger, keeping their eyes locked. “I need you to understand what you’re doing to me when you possess me. What I’ll be experiencing.”

“Possess…?”

“I’ll be giving myself to you. Receiving is also giving.”

“I’m already yours,” Murdoch breathed, nearly petrified at what he understood was about to happen.

“Trust me. I won’t hurt you.” Pendrick stopped and kissed him thoroughly as if he couldn’t help himself. “Let me prepare you.”

That didn’t sound good, but Murdoch only nodded. He let Pendrick lay him back, one of the pillows placed beneath his hips. He felt dreadfully exposed. When something wet touched him, he jumped and his hands automatically reached to shield himself, but Pendrick pushed them away.

“That’s what the headboard is for,” he said, and Murdoch gripped it tightly at once. “Don’t watch. Just feel. I promise it will feel incredible very soon.”

Not watching was Murdoch’s preference anyway. He focused on the ceiling and tried not to gasp with every new sensation. The wetness got warmer, and then something hard and narrow entered him.   From Dr. Coombs description he knew it was just his lover’s fingertip, but it felt huge.

“Relax, my dear,” Pendrick murmured. He stopped all movement until Murdoch started breathing again. A few moments later, when he was just growing used to the intrusion, a second fingertip entered him and he moaned. “Are you in pain?”

He really couldn’t communicate other than to shake his head. It wasn’t pain; it wasn’t comfortable, but it didn’t hurt, not even when Pendrick eventually added a third finger. He wasn’t aroused however, and that concerned him until a sudden twist made his member stand straight up. “Oh!”

Pendrick caressed his abdomen gently. “You’ve just discovered one of the reasons men do this. Are you ready for me to show you the other?”

Murdoch’s second exclamation of pleasure gave the man his answer. Moving deliberately, Pendrick bent one of Murdoch’s knees towards his chest and pushed the other to the side. Murdoch watched his face desperately as Pendrick rose on his own knees, positioned himself, and withdrew his fingers, their place immediately taken by his fully erect penis. Murdoch sucked in a long breath, feeling as if he were drawing his partner into his body at the same time. When Pendrick was completely inside him, Murdoch groaned uncontrollably. It felt invasive and wrong, but his body seemed to want more.

His lover held perfectly still till Murdoch’s cock jerked, signaling its approval, then he slowly began pumping, the friction of his skin as arousing as the motion of his member. When he slid one hand between them to encircle Murdoch’s penis, one of Murdoch’s hands left the headboard and got an equally firm grip on Pendrick’s shoulder. He knew he’d left dents in the wood and only hoped he wouldn’t do the same to Pendrick’s skin. A few seconds later, even that didn’t matter.

He climaxed abruptly and entirely too soon with a loud gasp. Spent and confused, Murdoch realized that Pendrick was still inside him, and suddenly he understood what the man had been trying to explain. Pendrick’s eyes were closed in bliss as he continued to thrust. Now that Murdoch’s part of the sexual act was complete, he was wholly aware of the man inside his body, heart pressed to his, joined to him as if they were one person. He felt owned.

Pendrick cried out inarticulately when he came, and the final sensation of his heat exploding into Murdoch made him cry out too. He held his lover to his chest, never wanting to let him go, but Pendrick didn’t seem inclined to move away. They fell asleep there without speaking again.

Murdoch woke shortly before dawn and at once recalled what they’d done. Pendrick was still sleeping, his arm curled around Murdoch’s waist. The sheets were a sticky mess, but Murdoch didn’t care, overwhelmed all over again by what he’d experienced the previous evening.

He nestled into Pendrick’s side, confident for the first time since they’d gotten together that his soul was safe. What they’d done, he would have done with Liza or with Julia, the two women he’d wanted to marry. The fact that he’d done it with James made no difference to the meaning behind it. In his mind, and in every other way possible, he understood that they were now married. The church couldn’t condemn that.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the motionless head beside him, then settled back into sleep with a clear conscience.

They lingered in bed later than usual that morning, although Pendrick made a point of getting up to ensure both bedroom doors were locked before they dared. Murdoch was rarely late for work, but he considered this a good reason.

“You were right about the act being special,” he told his lover quietly.

“It is when the two people doing it make it so.”

“I can’t imagine doing that casually. The trust issue alone…”

Pendrick looked up at him confidently. “I do trust you, William. If you’re willing, we can continue our experiment tonight.”

Murdoch’s penis shivered at the mere idea, a response he was very unused to. He hoped this new sexuality of his wasn’t going to cause a problem in his daily life. “I’m looking forward to it.”

To his relief, the station was fairly quiet that day; if a murder had occurred, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to give it his full attention. It turned out that very few of his actions at work received much of his attention. At five o’clock Brackenreid told him in exasperation to go home and get some rest, an order Murdoch obeyed with alacrity.

At home he and Pendrick dined early, then attempted to play billiards for a while. When neither of their games was up to their usual standards, they tried reading. After twenty minutes Murdoch set down his publication on the latest developments in film projecting and tried to decide how to phrase the question he’d been wanting to ask since he arrived home.

“Is it unseemly of me to suggest we retire now?” he finally inquired.

Pendrick flung aside his own book. “God, no. Let’s go.”

He clasped Murdoch’s hand and led him up the stairs much as he’d done the night before, but once they were enclosed in their bedroom, he released it with a bow.

“Tonight, with one exception,” he said, “you are in control, my dear.”

“What is the one exception?”

“I think I should be the one to prepare me for receiving you.” Pendrick must have seen comprehension come to Murdoch’s eyes. “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

Murdoch had no idea whether he wanted to. The process had seemed utterly inelegant when done to him, but it could be a different matter entirely when done to the man he was about to possess.

They undressed quickly, then Pendrick lay down on his back. He’d already opened a small jar of thick oily liquid to use as lubricant. When he spread his legs, even Murdoch’s ears blushed, but he watched as Pendrick went through the procedure. By the time he added his third finger, Murdoch was seriously afraid he wouldn’t be able to last for the remainder of the experiment.

Pendrick glanced at him through slit eyes, his breathing uneven. “Now, if you’re ready.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Enter me slowly. I’ll stop you if you hurt me.” He raised his knees.

Inhaling deeply, Murdoch crawled over him and lined his member up with Pendrick’s fingers as they slid free. He pushed, and the sight of him entering the other man made his mouth fall open. Until then he hadn’t completely believed he could do it, but the insertion was so smooth, Pendrick’s canal so slick, he’d gone all the way in before he realized that Pendrick hadn’t complained once.

“James?” he murmured, examining his lover’s face for pain. Pendrick’s eyes were closed now, his lips parted. His hair was soaked in sweat, but he reached for Murdoch’s shoulders to urge him to begin moving. Mesmerized, Murdoch thrust once, and Pendrick’s long moan of pleasure made Murdoch gasp as much as the unfamiliar sensation.

“It’s good,” Pendrick said shakily, apparently struggling to hold himself still. He’d wrapped his legs around Murdoch’s back. “You’re in control now.”

At those words, Murdoch lost all his former restraint. He plunged into Pendrick’s body again and again, encircling the other’s waist with one arm in order to pull him even closer. Pendrick was making noises similar to the ones Murdoch had made the previous night, so he didn’t doubt that the man was enjoying their union. As he felt himself soar to the edge of the highest precipice yet, he remembered to grasp his lover’s penis and allow him to climax first. With an extremely loud cry, Pendrick came, and it was all Murdoch could do not to follow him immediately into ecstasy. Recalling the enormous joy he’d experienced having Pendrick inside him afterward, Murdoch held off and continued to make love to him for several more minutes. The unmistakable satisfaction on Pendrick’s face told him it was what his partner wanted.

When Murdoch climaxed, he couldn’t help collapsing on Pendrick as a dead weight, only rolling to the side once his muscles began functioning again. Pendrick was panting, but met Murdoch’s eyes in blissful exhaustion.

“That went well,” he said smiling one of his rare smiles that showed his teeth. “In fact, I’d call it an unqualified success.”

“And no gouges,” Murdoch agreed, referring to the ten small indentations he’d left in Pendrick’s back the night before.

“Of course, we ought to run this experiment many more times in order to be certain of our results.” Pendrick’s voice was slowing. He closed his eyes again and barely stirred when Murdoch kissed him on the forehead. Murdoch was left to make them both clean and comfortable.

He didn’t mind at all. If the previous night was his marriage, then this was his wedding night. He now understood why his lover called it possession, because Murdoch couldn’t imagine any two people belonging to each other more thoroughly than they now did. Nothing could change that.

First thing next morning, he signed Pendrick’s will and left it on his desktop for his lover to find. It was the closest he could come to signing a marriage license.

*****

To Murdoch’s delight, their life resumed as anything but normal. He felt nothing like his old self, and not just because his body welcomed sex on a regular basis. He was sincerely glad that he and Pendrick weren’t twenty years younger, because if they were, they might never leave the house. Their bedroom experiments kept them busier than their scientific ones, at least for the next few weeks.

One Saturday they went to the symphony together. Murdoch felt a bit self-conscious in the fine clothes Pendrick insisted he wear, but they helped him blend in among the wealthy and influential. During intermission they left their seats to stretch their legs, and as they were returning, ran into two other gentlemen doing the same.

“Detective Murdoch?” Jeffrey said in some surprise. He saw Murdoch’s companion and blinked, but didn’t comment beyond a polite, “Mr. Pendrick.”

“Good evening, Mr. Campbell,” Pendrick replied.

“Are you enjoying the performance?” Murdoch asked, falling back on good manners when he could think of nothing else to say.

They complimented the music for a few moments, then parted company. Murdoch noted the man Jeffrey was with but didn’t recognize him, and Jeffrey didn’t offer an introduction. He seemed as taken aback by their encounter as Murdoch.

However, just before the house lights lowered for the second half of the program, Murdoch felt a tap on his shoulder. Jeffrey slipped a piece of paper into his hand.

“I forgot to give you this the last time we met,” he said quietly.

“Thank you…” Murdoch said in bewilderment, but Jeffery hurried away as the lights flickered.

“How are you acquainted with Mr. Campbell?” Pendrick asked. He gave no indication that he knew anything of Jeffrey’s personal life, so Murdoch opted to be discreet.

“He assisted me with some inquiries a while back.”

After that Murdoch didn’t think of the paper again until he was hanging up his borrowed clothing. The piece of paper included only a name and address, but they made his heart miss a beat.

Next day he attended morning services at the church Jeffrey had listed. He’d never been to that parish before, and the priest, Father Lanahan, was a stranger. He was also a very approachable older man who invited Murdoch into his office after the rest of his flock had gone.

“I was referred to you by Jeffrey Campbell,” Murdoch began after introducing himself. He was uncertain what he’d expected by coming here. “Do you know whom I mean?”

Father Lanahan nodded. “I know Jeffrey well, although he isn’t Catholic. We’ve had many deep discussions about good and evil. How is he?”

“Very well, as far as I know.”

“Is he still seeing his gentleman?”

Murdoch almost gaped. “You know about him?”

“For many years. Jeffrey needed someone to talk to once upon a time, and a mutual friend sent him to me.” Father Lanahan studied Murdoch for a moment, squinting behind small smudgy spectacles. “I’m guessing you and he have something in common.”

“But… how can you accept him? Is it because he’s _not_ Catholic?”

“Not at all. I accept Jeffrey because he is a fine, intelligent, thoughtful man.”

Murdoch felt as if he’d walked into a dream world where nothing made sense. “Father, I _am_ Catholic. And I _am_ homosexual.” Even as he spoke, Murdoch realized that he’d never labeled himself such before. He’d accepted that he was involved in a homosexual relationship, but he’d always held onto his history with Liza and Julia to prove he wasn’t exclusive. It was both earth-shattering and freeing to admit what he was. “Are you saying you don’t condemn that?”

Father Lanahan continued to watch Murdoch as he pondered his answer, while Murdoch tried not to squirm. He was braced for a response along the lines of Father Bertram’s.

At last the priest removed his glasses, wiped them on his cassock, and restored them to his nose. “I don’t condemn someone for whom he chooses to love. I do condemn someone who uses his taste in sexual partners to be promiscuous and irreverent. Which category do you fall into?”

“The first.”

“I thought so, or you wouldn’t be here. A man in the second category wouldn’t still call himself a Catholic.”

“But the Roman Catholic Church holds that homosexuality is a sin that must be confessed and repented in order to save one’s soul,” Murdoch argued.

“The church was founded on principles of love and forgiveness. I don’t see why the simple act of loving another man should automatically consign one to hell. There are far worse sins being committed every minute.” Father Lanahan placed a wrinkled hand on Murdoch’s arm, his tone kind. “You’ve been living in Purgatory, haven’t you, my son?”

“I haven’t been to church or confession for nearly a year.”

“Would you like to confess now?”

“Very much!”

Murdoch followed the priest out into the main hall of the church, almost trembling with anticipation. They went into the confessionals, where Murdoch knelt and for the next half hour poured out his guilt over every small act of trespass he could remember. When he got to the part where he was lying to his superior at work, Father Lanahan interrupted.

“Was that a direct lie, or a sin of omission?” he inquired.

“…A sin of omission, I suppose. No one has asked me whether I’m homosexual, so I haven’t actually denied it.”

“Come back if and when you have.”

His penance was relatively light, since other than his choice of lover, Murdoch was not much of a sinner. When they exited the confessionals, he felt as if a massive weight had been removed from his shoulders. He imagined he was even standing straighter.

“I’d like to attend your services on Sundays,” he told Father Lanahan as the latter escorted him to the door. “Would that be all right?”

“You’ll be very welcome here, William,” he father assured him. “As will your partner, if he should wish to accompany you.”

Murdoch couldn’t quite picture Pendrick in a church, but he’d been surprised before. “I’ll invite him.”

The trip home on his bicycle seemed to take mere moments, although he had to cross half the city in Sunday traffic. When he arrived at the house, he found Pendrick in the ballroom fiddling with the Victrola. Murdoch couldn’t tell what he was doing, and for once he didn’t ask.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Pendrick demanded when Murdoch burst in. He listened in satisfaction while Murdoch told him how he’d spent his morning. Although never much concerned about his own after-life, he was clearly invested in Murdoch’s.

“We’re not damned,” Murdoch summed up, the nearest to tears he’d been since the night he’d concluded they were.

“My love, no God in His right mind would damn _you_ ,” Pendrick stated, but he accepted Murdoch into his arms for an embrace that seemed to last for hours.

It only ended when Pendrick released him and picked up a small metal box with several knobs and an antenna sticking out one end. He aimed it at the Victrola, twisted one of the knobs, and the machine turned on as smoothly as if someone had flipped the switch. Their favorite waltz began playing.

“How?” Murdoch asked, amused but ready to assume the position.

“It’s a remote controller,” Pendrick told him, “similar to something your friend Tesla has been working on.” He casually tossed the box onto a nearby chair, then he too raised his arms. “Shall we dance?”


End file.
